  I I know myself the best-beloved of all The many dear to him; yet not indeed Because of his swift thought for every need Of my love’s craving; I could scarcely call My very own the power to enthrall Such chivalry as his, that turns to heed Each slightest claim, nor thinks to ask the meed Of love returned where love’s sweet offerings fall. Not then because of all he is to me; But by this surer token; when he earns The right to his own happiness, or yearns For some sweet, sudden, answering sympathy, Ah me! with what quick-beating heart I see |
|
