Middlemarch - 47

by George Eliot in English Fiction Stories

CHAPTER XLVII. Was never true love loved in vain,For truest love is highest gain.No art can make it: it must springWhere elements are fostering.So in heaven’s spot and hourSprings the little native flower,Downward root and upward eye,Shapen by the ...Read Moreand sky. It happened to be on a Saturday evening that Will Ladislaw had that little discussion with Lydgate. Its effect when he went to his own rooms was to make him sit up half the night, thinking over again, under a new irritation, all that he had before thought of his having settled in Middlemarch and harnessed himself with Read Less