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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536586" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLI</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=536586" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">THE SAME CONTINUED<br>We may not meet. I could not for pride's sake<br>Dissemble further, and I suffer pain,<br>A palpable distinct and physical ache,<br>When our eyes meet by accident, and when<br>I hear you talk in your pathetic strain<br>Which always moved me. Only yesterday,<br>As I was standing with a crowd of men<br>In the long corridor, you came my way<br>And chanced to stop, and thus by chance I heard<br>A score of phrases uttered in that sad<br>Half--suppliant voice which once my spirit stirred<br>To its foundations. Yet your theme was glad--<br>Strangers your hearers. What was in these spells<br>To move me still? A trick, and nothing else!</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=Wilfrid+Scawen+Blunt">Wilfrid Scawen Blunt</a></strong></div>

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