Arden: 
               Young men may. 
               You gaze on an ideal reflecting you
               Need I say beautiful?  Yet it reflects
               Less beauty than the lady whom I love
               Breathes, radiates.  Look on yourself in me. 
               What harm in gazing?  You are this flower
               You are that spirit.  But the spirit fed
               With substance of the flower takes all its bloom! 
               And where in spirits is the bloom of the flower?

Astraea: 
               ’Tis very singular.  You have a tone
               Quite changed.

Arden: 
               You wished a change.  To show you, how
               I read you . . .

Astraea: 
               Oh! no, no.  It means dissection. 
               I never heard of reading character
               That did not mean dissection.  Spare me that. 
               I am wilful, violent, capricious, weak,
               Wound in a web of my own spinning-wheel,
               A star-gazer, a riband in the wind . . .

Arden: 
               A banner in the wind! and me you lead,
               And shall!  At least, I follow till I win.

Astraea: 
               Forbear, I do beseech you.

Arden: 
                              I have had
               Your hand in mine.

Astraea: 
               Once.

Arden: 
                              Once! 
               Once! ’twas; once, was the heart alive,
               Leaping to break the ice.  Oh! once, was aye
               That laughed at frosty May like spring’s return. 
               Say you are terrorized:  you dare not melt. 
               You like me; you might love me; but to dare,
               Tasks more than courage.  Veneration, friends,
               Self-worship, which is often self-distrust,
               Bar the good way to you, and make a dream
               A fortress and a prison.

Astraea: 
                              Changed! you have changed
               Indeed.  When you so boldly seized my hand
               It seemed a boyish freak, done boyishly. 
               I wondered at Professor Spiral’s choice
               Of you for an example, and our hope. 
               Now you grow dangerous.  You must have thought,
               And some things true you speak-save ‘terrorized.’ 
               It may be flattering to sweet self-love
               To deem me terrorized.—­’Tis my own soul,
               My heart, my mind, all that I hold most sacred,
               Not fear of others, bids me walk aloof. 
               Who terrorizes me?  Who could?  Friends?  Never! 
               The world? as little.  Terrorized!