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Edith Nesbit - The Claim
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OH! I admit I`m dull and poor, 
    And plain and gloomy, as you tell me; 
And dozens flock around your door 
    Who in all points but one excel me. 


You smile on them, on me you frown, 
    They worship for the wage you pay; 
I lay life, love, and honour down 
    For you to walk on every day. 


I am the only one who sees 
    That though such gifts can never move you, 
A meagre price are gifts like these 
    For life`s high privilege--to love you. 


I am the one among your train 
    Who sees that loving you is worth 
A thousand times the certain gain 
    Of all the heaped-up joys of earth. 


And you, who know as well as I, 
    What your glass tells you every morning-- 
A kindred soul you should descry, 
    Dilute with sympathy your scorning. 


At least you should approve the intense 
    Love that gives all for you to waste; 
Your other lovers have more sense, 
    Admit that I have better taste.
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