Emily Pfeiffer (1841–1890)

I WOULD be a goddess in

The light of those dear eyes

Apt to hold you as to win,

All-beautiful, all-wise.

Pray you wherefore should you deem

This a vain and idle dream?

Purblind love that cannot see

That woman still to man may be

Whatever she can seem!

I would win your tender trust,

But not to keep you still

Kneeling lowly in the dust,

Obedient to my will;

Nor to surfeit all my days

On the nectar of your praise;

Or to hear it sung so high

That the idle passer-by

Paused to hear your lays.

I but ask you for your faith

That, wounded by the herd,

I may bring you healing with

The magic of a word.

Pray you to believe me so

That in darkness, doubt, or woe,

I may guide you when you grope,

Light you with my stronger hope,

Warm you with my glow.

I would have you love me well,

That, fainting in the strife,

Kiss of mine should be a spell,

To win you back to life;

Love me so that day or night,

I could hide the world from sight,

Keep it out with woven arms,

Or subdue it with my charms,

As a goddess might!

Love! my worth will wax or wane

As your light shall shine,

Now a homely thing, or vain,

Now almost divine.

Lorn of love, my hands hang down,

I am nothing when you frown;

Hold me fair, and keep me great,

With your faithfulness for state,

And your love for crown!