Thus says Thoreau again: "Only
lovers know the value of truth." And yet again: "They ask
for words and deeds, when a true relation is word and deed."
But it follows that since they are neither of them so good as
the other hopes, and each is, in a very honest manner,
playing a part above his powers, such an intercourse must
often be disappointing to both. "We may bid farewell sooner
than complain," says Thoreau, "for our complaint is too well
grounded to be uttered." "We have not so good a right to
hate any as our friend."
"It were treason to our love
And a sin to God above,
One iota to abate
Of a pure, impartial hate."
Love is not blind, nor yet forgiving. "O yes, believe me,"
as the song says, "Love has eyes!" The nearer the intimacy,
the more cuttingly do we feel the unworthiness of those we
love; and because you love one, and would die for that love
to-morrow, you have not forgiven, and you never will forgive,
that friend's misconduct. If you want a person's faults, go
to those who love him. They will not tell you, but they
know. And herein lies the magnanimous courage of love, that
it endures this knowledge without change.
It required a cold, distant personality like that of Thoreau,
perhaps, to recognise and certainly to utter this truth; for
a more human love makes it a point of honour not to
acknowledge those faults of which it is most conscious.
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