Littell's Living Age/Volume 144/Issue 1855/Rondeau
O scorn me not, although my worth be slight,
Although the stars alone can match thy light,
Although the wind alone can mock thy grace,
And thy glass only show so fair a face,
Yet let me find some favor in thy sight!
The proud stars will not bend from their lone height,
Nor will the wind thy faithfulness requite —
Thy mirror gives thee but a cold embrace.
O scorn me not!
My lamp is feeble, but by day or night
It shall not wane, and but for thy delight
My footsteps shall not for a moment's space
Forego the echo of thy gentle pace;
I would so serve and guard thee if I might.
O scorn me not.