III.

Why does he come to me, With his deep, impassioned eyes, Stealing my soul from me? Surely a high emprise For such an one as he To smile an hour on me— To win a worthless prize, Would he might let me be! Proud am I—proud as he For my name as his is old— What should he say to me? I have neither lands nor gold. Ah, a merry jest 'twill be To win my heart from me— (The tale will be soon told!) Would he might let me be!