Yes—was he going to fling me off as though a worn-out glove?
You can't do with Sincerity if what you need is Love!
I could not think such ill of him, although it did look queerly,
That in his next the "most" was gone, and he was mine "sincerely."
Yet even then I loved him still, for in the human breast
Hope springs eternal, so I dared to hope on for the best;
And, after all, such things as these ought not to weigh unduly,
But it was more than I could bear to have to read, "Yours truly."
The truth was clear—I quickly sent him back his lovely cartes,
His bangle, and his poetry of Cupid and his darts.