He wished to be alone with his own thoughts for awhile--to try and resolve the meaning of this strange new emotion that possessed him,--a feeling that was half pleasing, half painful, and that certainly moved him to a sort of shame.

A man, if he be strong and healthy, is always more or less ashamed when Love, with a single effort, proves him to be weaker than a blade of grass swaying in the wind.

What! all his dignity, all his resoluteness, all his authority swept down by the light touch of a mere willow wand?
for the very sake of his own manhood and self-respect, he cannot help but be ashamed! It is as though a little nude, laughing child mocked at a lion's strength, and made him a helpless prisoner with a fragile daisy chain.

So the god Eros begins his battles, which end in perpetual victory,--first fear and shame,--then desire and passion,--then conquest and possession.

And afterwards?
ah!.