I care not for the many,
If but my few are kind;
How poor are they who never joy
Apart from crowds can find.
Not fair to eyes my features;
But sorrow I control,
If what beyond the vision lies
Be lovely to your soul.
Tho' poor my lips in music,
The heart sings low and sweet;
And you may prove that harmony
Full-chorded and complete.
My brow aches not in crowning,
I reign all thrones above,
Possession have I beyond price—
The empire of your love.
To love and to be loved again—
What more has life to give?
O fools—to scorn this highest joy,
And yet lay claim to live!
