If you knew how much I treasure
Every little word you say,
That an accent of displeasure
Grieves my heart for many a day:
You would pause ere word or whisper
Wounded one who loves so dear,
Nor attend each coxcomb lisper,
Mincing fops, who win your ear!

Creatures in whose selfish being
Nothing high, or noble dwells,
In existence only seeing
Their poor, narrow, empty selves!
Creatures in whose feeling never
Sprang a thought for others weal,
Vain, and eager but to sever
Those whose better hearts can feel!

If you knew how much I treasure
E'en the slightest thing you touch,
You would pause, in your displeasure,
Ere you wronged my heart so much:
Easy, o'er the surface floating,
To be light — and gay — and free! —
'Tis for hearts too fond and doating —
To feel mute and sad — like me!