If I had been a rich man’s girl,
With my tawny hair, and this wanton art
Of lifting my eyes in the evening whirl
And looking into another’s heart;
Had love been mine at birth, and friends
Caressing and guarding me night and day,
With doctors to watch my finger-ends,
And a parson to teach me how to pray;
If I had been reared as others have,—
With but a tithe of these looks, which came