Not because you are gentle of speech,
O brave knight of mine!
Nor because in the chivalrous list
With the brightest you shine;
Nor because when you pass on the street
All the world turn to praise
The wonderful charm of your look
And grace of your ways;
Nor because in your presence I know
I have but to command,
And the coveted treasures at once
Will fall from your hand;
Nor because by the glance of your eyes
That so tenderly drew
My whole heart unto yours, I may know
I am perfect to you;
But because in your presence, dear, I
Grow gentle of speech;
The haughty young maiden who once
Was so wilful to teach;
And because when I pass on the street
All the world turn to praise
A certain new charm in my look
And grace in my ways;
And because in your presence I lose
The proud wish to command;
Contented, nay eager, dear love,
To be led by your hand;
And because your eyes full of reproach
At some things that I do,
Still show the belief I shall grow
To be worthy of you;—
Do I love you? ’twere idle indeed
To refuse now to yield;
Quite useless for lips to deny
What the eyes have revealed;
Yet not, (let me say it, for fear
That too vain you should be—)
Not so much for what you are yourself,
As for what you make me!