Thine heart wast forc'd to choose without its beat,
'Twas for the wealthiest lone gentleman-
That offer'd all his gold, his throne and seat-
To thee as time foretold his will and plan;
Not all the marbles in the world were true
In their delight...there is unworthy one.
O never is the squire the man to view-
Up there! ‘pon pedestal; thou love'st no one.
And for the poet who hath won thine heart?