The Question

Does he think of me in the merry throng
Which surrounds his board to-night?
Is his love as true, and his faith as strong,
As it was at this morning's light?
Am I first in his thought; is he still as fond;
And is his heart longing to flee
From its weary thraldom, and burst its bond,
To spend but a moment with me?

Can he look on the faces of women fair,
And turn from them all to me?
From halls where sweet music is filling the air,
Would he come and be happy with me?
From the feast of reason and flow of soul,
And walls resounding with glee;
From the crimson goblet and flowing bowl,
Is he giving one thought of me?

Ah! yes, on the wings of the night breeze come
Such tidings of comfort to me.
Rest well, little Queen! his heart is thy throne,
Who sends this message to thee:
"Thou need'st not fear, though in gilded halls
Of pleasure and chivalry,
Thy lover wouldst fly from the mirthful walls
To spend one sweet moment with thee."

Yest, he thinks of me in the crowded mart,
And the thought cheers him on his way;
I read in his eyes the desire of his heart,
As he passes me day by day.
What more could I ask, what wish while I live,
Than the love he has lavished so free?
This world has no worthier boon to give
Than my handsome young lover to me.