But if he were mighty, and rich, and great?
Signë.
Oh, were he a king, did his palace hold
Stores of rich garments and ruddy gold,
’Twould ne’er set my heart desiring.
With you I am rich enough here, meseems,
With summer and sun and the murmuring streams,
And the birds in the branches quiring.
Dear sister mine—here shall my dwelling be;
And to give any wooer my hand in fee,