How wearied wert thou grown,
When first the noose upon my neck was thrown!
And even thou hadst fallen in the fray
Were Galatea not alive to-day.
She, she alone, on earth alone was found
To deal the cruel wound
Within the heart of me.
And make a vassal of the fancy free,
That would as steel or marble be displayed,
Did it not yield itself to love the maid.