I was not he (song)

   I was not he--the man

Who used to pilgrim to your gate,

At whose smart step you grew elate,

   And rosed, as maidens can,

      For a brief span.

   It was not I who sang

Beside the keys you touched so true

With note-bent eyes, as if with you

   It counted not whence sprang

      The voice that rang . . .

   Yet though my destiny

It was to miss your early sweet,

You still, when turned to you my feet,

   Had sweet enough to be

      A prize for me!