This, no song of ingenue   This, no ballad of innocence   This, the rhyme of a lady who   Followed ever the natural bents   This, a solo of sapience   This, a chantey of sophistry   This, the sum of experiments   I loved them until they loved me      Decked in garments of sable hue,   Daubed with ashes of myriad Lents   Wearing shower bouquets of rue   Walk I ever in penitence   Oft I roam, as my heart repents   Through God's acre of memory   Marking stones, in my reverence   "I loved them until they loved me"      Pictures pass me in long review   Marching columns of dead events   I was tender, and, often, true   Ever a prey to coincidence   Always knew I the consequence   Always saw what the end would be   We're as Nature has made us hence   I loved them until they loved me      Princes, never I'd give offense,   Won't you think of me tenderly ?   Here's my strength and my weakness, gents   I loved them until they loved me.