Oh, isn't it nice to be somebody's?--
Somebody's darling and pet,
To be shrined in the heart of a dear one,
Whose absence fills soul with regret?
To be dreamed of, and longed for, and courted,
As the Queen whom his heart holds in thrall,--
As the one--the great one, priceless jewel,
That outweighs and outvalues them all?

Oh,--I'd rather my head should be resting,
On the breast of the man that I love;
And my hand in his strong grasp be nestling,
And bask in the light of his love:--
I would rather,--far rather, my darling
Should be loving, and faithful, and brave,
Than be titled, and wealthy, and fickle;--
E'en though poverty held him a slave.

Oh, my heart yearns for one that is noble,--
In mind, not in riches or birth,
Who would love me, and value my love too,
Then my lot would be heaven on earth.
But where, alas, where shall I find him?
This man, that my heart longs for so?
This idol I picture and dream of,--
Does he live? I'm inclined to say, no.

He is merely a fanciful hero,
That my heart has pictured so fair:
I must stoop from my realm of wild fancy,
And take what may fall to my share.
Some plain, honest, working mechanic,
May be the prize I may call mine,
But if shaped like a man he'll be better,
Nor be left lonely, without Valentine.