Words To An Irish Air Poem by Aline Murray Kilmer

IF I had a lover, now, who would he be?
Yourself with your laughter, your gay gallantry?
Yet I'd know when you kissed me your heart was not mine
But kneeling in tears at a lost lady's shrine.

Or if I should seek him who loves me too well,
Do you think with my head on his breast he could tell?
Would he know that however I strove to be true
My vagabond heart was still following you?

This dicing with hearts is a perilous game:
Be it one or another the end is the same.
There is sure to be sorrow however they fall,
So I think I shall not have a lover at all.