Classic Poem

I KNOW , Justine, you speak me fair
—As often as we meet;
And 'tis a luxury, I swear,
—To hear a voice so sweet;
And yet it does not please me quite,
—The civil way you've got;
For me you're something too polite—
—Justine, you love me not!

I know Justine, you never scold
—At aught that I may do:
If I am passionate or cold,
—'Tis all the same to you.
“A charming temper,” say the men,
—“To smooth a husband's lot”:
I wish 'twere ruffled now and then—
—Justine you love me not!

I know, Justine, you wear a smile
—As beaming as the sun;
But who supposes all the while
—It shines for only one?
Though azure skies are fair to see,
—A transient cloudy spot
In yours would promise more to me—
—Justine, you love me not!

I know, Justine, you make my name
—Your eulogistic theme,
And say—if any chance to blame—
—You hold me in esteem.
Such words, for all their kindly scope,
—Delight me not a jot;
Just as you would have praised the Pope—
—Justine, you love me not!

I know, Justine—for I have heard
—What friendly voices tell—
You do not blush to say the word,
—“You like me passing well”;
And thus the fatal sound I hear
—That seals my lonely lot:
There's nothing now to hope or fear—
—Justine, you love me not!