I was not he — the man...

I was not he — the man Who used to pilgrim to your gate, At whose smart step you grew elate, And rosed, as maidens can,

For a brief span. It was not I who sang Beside the keys you touched so true With note-bent eyes, as if with you

It counted not whence sprang The voice that rang... Yet though my destiny It was to miss your early sweet,

You still, when turned to you my feet, Had sweet enough to be A prize for me!