I know myself the best-beloved of all
The many dear to him; yet not indeed
Because of his swift thought for every need
Of my love’s craving; I could scarcely call
My very own the power to enthrall
Such chivalry as his, that turns to heed
Each slightest claim, nor thinks to ask the meed
Of love returned where love’s sweet offerings fall.
Not then because of all he is to me;
But by this surer token; when he earns
The right to his own happiness, or yearns
For some sweet, sudden, answering sympathy,
Ah me! with what quick-beating heart I see
For his own joy it is to me he turns!