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The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics")

English, Thomas Dunn (1819-1902)

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LEGENDS AND LAYS.
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RURAL SKETCHES.
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URBAN VERSES.
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DIALECT STUDIES.
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BIZARRE RHYMES.
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MISCELLANEOUS.
  
THE THREE KINGS.
  
SONG OF FIRE.
  
THE LOCOMOTIVE.
  
THE BALLAD OF THE COLORS.
  
MY PLACE IN DREAM-LAND.
  
THE RIVER.
  
OBLIVION.
  
THE OLD FARM GATE.
  
LULLABY.
  
THE ISLAND OF THE SOUL.
  
AT THE GRAVE OF ALICE.
  
MY FARM.
  
THE THREE SISTERS.
  
TOM SAXON.
  
THE RAILWAY RIDE.
  
OUR CHRISTMAS TURKEY.
  
TWILIGHT.
  
“PSYCHE LOVES ME.”
  
PALINGENESIA.
  
TWO DAYS.
  
GOOD-NIGHT.
  
HER SINGING.
  
THE KING'S VISIT.
  
HIS IDEAL.
  
MY SHIP AT SEA.
  
NOMANSLAND.
  
ROBIN AND ROBIN.
  
THE LOCK OF HAIR.
  
WANTED.
  
CROSSING THE RIVER.
  
“KEEP A STIFF UPPER LIP.”
  
“DON'T LOOK FOR THE BRIDGE TILL YOU COME TO THE STREAM.”
  
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
  
WRECKED.
  
A HEART-BURST.
  
THE EARL'S DAUGHTER.
  
“HE SHOULD HAVE SPOKEN.”
  
THE CITY IN THE CLOUDS.
  
PHILIP KEARNY.
  
THE TELEGRAPH WIRES.
  
THE NEIGHBORS.
  
“THE GAY YOUNG MAN FROM TOWN.”
  
THE RESCUE OF SEVIER.
  
THE RAID ON RAMAPO.
  
THE OFFICERS' CALL.
  
NANCY HART.
  
THE LOVING THAT NEVER GROWS OLD.
  
THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.
  
DEAD.
  
AT SEVENTY-TWO.
  
McMANUS' COW.
  
OUR FIRST BABY.
  
SASSIETY.
  
THE DEAD HAND.
  
THE QUARREL OF THE WHEELS.
  
HAUNTED.
  
THE CASTLE IN AIR.
  
VAMOS, JOHN!
  
THE MONEY-KING'S CHORUS.
  
THE IRON-CLAD.
  
ALL DEAD.
  
THE END OF IT ALL.
  
MATTY RAINES.
  
STORY OF THE MOUND.
  
NOW I AM OLD.
  
TAKING IT EASY.
  
THE RAGPICKER.
  
ON CHRISTMAS EVE.
  
THE KITCHEN QUARREL.
  
ODE
  
POMPEY, THE FIDDLER.
  
THE HUNDREDTH YEAR.
  
MONTGOMERY AT QUEBEC.
  
THE DISPUTE OF THE HAMMERS.
  
AFTER ONE HUNDRED YEARS.
  
CONTENT.
  
THE STRIFE OF BROTHERS.
  
THE IRISH FAMINE.

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“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.
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