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Edith Nesbit - To His lady,
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IMPLORING HER TO BE TRUE

MISTRESS of me, mistress of all the arts 
And charms that sway men`s hot ungoverned hearts, 
    Receive their tribute--smile at their defeat; 
    I do not ask that you should spare them, sweet. 
Only I ask that in the secret shrine 
No prayers be heard, no offering laid, but mine. 
Each man who sees your eyes must needs lay down 
Low at your feet the votive myrtle crown: 
    Let them bring crowns to die beneath your feet; 
I, only I, must bring the crown you wear 
Shadowing the sombre glory of your hair.
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