My love to me is always kind:
She neither storms, nor is she pined;
She does not plead with tears or sighs,
But gentle words and soft replies —
Good earnest of the thought behind.

They say the little god is blind,
They do not count him quite too wise;
Yet he, somehow, could bring and bind
My love to me.

And sweetest nut hath sourest rind?
It may be so; but she I prize
Is even lovelier in mine eyes
Than good and gracious to my mind.
I bless the fortune that consigned
My love to me.