And though he would fall at my shrine;
I never can love him, so what is the use
To torture this poor heart of mine.
So I must refuse him; but let it be gentle,
And kindly I'll bid him to go,
And seek him another who is more worthy,
For I am unloving, I know.
My love is too trifling when measured with his,
My heart, it wants to be free;
And so I will bid him good-by for the last time,
And tell him to forget one so fickle as me.
(Independence, KS: ___. 1906)