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My dearest, do you really, truly love me, Or do you but allow me to love you? And can you, since you shine so far above me, Remain, when time reveals my filings, true?

By jealousies and fears my soul's tormented, I see a thousand rivals at your feet; Most sure assurance leaves me discontented, Some gall I find in every cup of sweet.

Oh! pardon me these doubts, misgivings, fancies,— Who would not fear to lose a Koh-i-noor? In you my heart, my soul, life's whole romance is, Without you all my life's bare, bleak, and poor.

Yet if you love me not, ah! still deceive me, And feign the tenderness you do not feel: Despise me, scorn me, but ah! do not leave me; Indifferent, strive indifference to conceal.

But oh how vain to ask you to dissemble! Your white soul never could a falsehood stain; Spite of yourself the very truth would tremble On those sweet lips, howe'er they sought to feign.