XIX

Why should I love? Why lay my heart before
One who may glance with merriment or scorn
Upon my offering? I have overborne
By my own impulse, and I rashly pour
Down at thy feet the homage of my store
Daring the worst. O Lady, shall I mourn
My unasked gift, and, e'er the day has worn
Her evening livery, my vain waste deplore?
Beauty like thine draws praise from every tongue,
Perchance thou'rt weary of thy own renown;
Too rich in love to smile, or even frown
Upon my poor addition. Hast thou hung,
Among thy trophies, that which I have flung
Beside my heart--a poet's budding crown?