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Edith Nesbit - The Wife Of All Ages
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I DO not catch these subtle shades of feeling, 
    Your fine distinctions are too fine for me; 
This meeting, scheming, longing, trembling, dreaming, 
    To me mean love, and only love, you see; 
In me at least `tis love, you will admit, 
And you the only man who wakens it. 


Suppose I yearned, and longed, and dreamed, and fluttered, 
    What would you say or think, or further, do? 
Why should one rule be fit for me to follow, 
    While there exists a different law for you? 
If all these fires and fancies came my way, 
Would you believe love was so far away? 


On all these other women--never doubt it-- 
    `Tis love you lavish, love you promised me! 
What do I care to be the first, or fiftieth? 
    It is the only one I care to be. 
Dear, I would be your sun, as mine you are, 
Not the most radiant wonder of a star. 


And so, good-bye! Among such sheaves of roses 
    You will not miss the flower I take from you; 
Amid the music of so many voices 
    You will forget the little songs I knew-- 
The foolish tender words I used to say, 
The little common sweets of every day. 


The world, no doubt, has fairest fruits and blossoms 
    To give to you; but what, ah! what for me? 
Nay, after all I am your slave and bondmaid, 
    And all my world is in my slavery. 
So, as before, I welcome any part 
Which you may choose to give me of your heart.
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