I sing of one I would not sing,
Such anguish from my love hath sprung;
I love him more than earthly thing;
But beauty, wit, or pleadings, wrung
From my heart's depth, can gain for me
Nor gratitude nor courtesy;
And I am left, deceived, betray'd,
Of him, like frail or faithless maid.

On one sweet thought my soul has dwelt,--
That my unchanging faith was thine;
Not Seguis for Valensa felt
A love more pure and high than mine:
In all beside thou art above
My highest thoughts -- but not in love,--
Cold as thou art, and proud to me,
To others all humility.

Yet must I wonder, gazing there
On that severe and chilling mien:
It is not just, another fair
Should fill the heart where I have been:
Whate'er her worth, remember thou
Love's early days, love's fondest vow;
Heaven grant no idle word of mine
Have caused this cold neglect of thine!

When I remember all thy worth,
Thy rank, thy honours,-- well I see
There cannot be the heart on earth
That would not bend in love to thee:
But thou, whose penetrating eyes
Can quickly pierce through each disguise,
The tenderest, truest, heart wilt see,
And surely then remember ME.

On worth, on rank, I might rely,
On beauty, or, yet more, on love;
But one soft song at least I'll try--
A song of peace, thy heart to move:
And I would learn, beloved one, now
Why cold and harsh and rude art thou;
If love hath given her place to pride,
Or cold dislike in thee preside?

This, and much more my messenger should say,
Warning all hearts 'gainst Pride's relentless sway.