As though unconscious of his speech, She said "Each gives to more than each." He could not answer yea or nay: He faltered "Gifts may pass away." Yet knew not what he meant to say. "If that be so," she straight replied, "Each heart with each doth coincide. What boots it? For the world is wide." "The world is but a Thought," said he: "The vast unfathomable sea Is but a Notion – unto me." And darkly fell her answer dread Upon his unresisting head, Like half a hundredweight of lead. "The Good and Great must ever shun That reckless and abandoned one Who stoops to perpetrate a pun. "The man that smokes – that reads the TIMES – That goes to Christmas Pantomimes – Is capable of ANY crimes!" He felt it was his turn to speak, And, with a shamed and crimson cheek, Moaned "This is harder than Bezique!" But when she asked him "Wherefore so?" He felt his very whiskers glow, And frankly owned "I do not know." While, like broad waves of golden grain, Or sunlit hues on cloistered pane, His colour came and went again. Pitying his obvious distress, Yet with a tinge of bitterness, She said "The More exceeds the Less." "A truth of such undoubted weight," He urged, "and so extreme in date, It were superfluous to state." Roused into sudden passion, she In tone of cold malignity: "To others, yea: but not to thee."