IF I were poor and weak,
Bankrupt of hope, and desolate of love;
Without a tongue to speak
The strange dumb thoughts of thee which through me move ;
Then would I freely venture, sweet,
To cast my soul down at thy feet.

Or were I proud and great ;
Were all men envious, and all women kind,
And yet my high estate
Showed poor beside the riches of my mind :
Then would I boldly stoop, to rise
Up to the height of thy dear eyes.

But being not weak nor strong,
Cast in the common mould of coarser clay ;
Sure 'twere to do thee wrong
To set my humble homage in thy way,
And cloud thy sunny morn, which I would fain
Keep clear and fair, with my poor private pain.

Only since love and I are so ingrown,
That for my weakness is my love so strong;
And scarce I know what love's is, what mine own,
Nor whether love or I inspire my song :
Take thou my weakness to thy strength, and give
Strength to my weakness, sweet, and bid me live.