Classic Poem

You loved me for the gold you thought I had;
I loved you for the honor, proud and high,
I dreamed was in your soul. Alas, poor fools!
Which was worse cheated, think you, you or I?

And now we meet with shamed, averted eyes;
For such false fancies both may meetly sigh;
For I am poor as any beggar-maid,
And you are not the flower of chivalry.

Come, once my suitor, come, extend your hand;
'T is fitting that we thus should say good-by.
Come, let us bid adieu on common ground,
Though you were scarce so greatly duped as I!