Chapter 48: XLVII

XLVII Was never true love loved in vain, For truest love is highest gain. No art can make it: it must spring Where elements are fostering. So in heaven’s spot and hour Springs the little native flower, Downward root and upward eye, Shapen by the earth and 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…