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“PSYCHE LOVES ME.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

“PSYCHE LOVES ME.”

I have no gold, no lands, no robes of splendor,
No crowd of sycophants to siege my door;
But fortune in one thing at least is tender—
For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?
I have no fame, nor to the height of honor
Will my poor name on tireless pinions soar;
Yet Fate has never drawn my hate upon her—
For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?
I have no station, know no high position,
And never yet the robes of office wore;
Yet I can well afford to scorn ambition—
For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?
I have no beauty—beauty has forsworn me,
On others wasting all her charming store;

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Yet I lack nothing now which could adorn me—
For Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?
I have no learning—in nor school nor college
Could I abide o'er quaint old tomes to pore;
But this I know, which passeth all your knowledge—
That Psyche loves me! Could I ask for more?
Now come what may, or loss or shame or sorrow,
Sickness, ingratitude, or treachery sore,
I laugh to-day and heed not for the morrow—
For Psyche loves me—and I ask no more.