If

OH, if the world were mine, Love,

I’d give the world for thee!

Alas! there is no sign, Love,

Of that contingency.

Were I a king,—which is n’t

To be considered now,—

A diadem had glistened

Upon that lovely brow.

Had fame with laurels crowned me,—

She has n’t, up to date,—

Nor time nor change had found me

To love and thee ingrate.

If death threw down his gage, Love,

Though life is dear to me,

I’d die, e’en of old age, Love,

To win a smile from thee.

But being poor, we part, dear,

And love, sweet love, must die;

Thou wilt not break thy heart, dear,

No more, I think, shall I!