I. I KNOW by sages we are told To reckon riches vile; I'm not a sage, and so of gold I'd like a pretty pile. It is not avarice; Oh no! For Sophie's sake I'd have it so: Oh, 't is, be sure, Beaucoup d'amour; Only love, -- much love! II. And I would be a bard divine, Her praises to prolong; And link my Sophie's name with mine, In never-dying song; Yet if I thus aspire to claim The poet's laurel wreath of fame, Oh, 't is, be sure, Beaucoup d'amour; Only love, -- much love! III. And I would be a sceptred king, That Sophie might be seen With all that royalty could bring To grace my darling queen. Ambition? No; for her alone I'd wish to sit upon a throne: Oh, 't is, be sure, Beaucoup d'amour; Only love, -- much love! IV. Yet why, Oh why, would I possess These shining gifts of Fate? For love has more of happiness Than fortune, fame, or state: So let them go; I'll not repine; The sweetest treasure still is mine: Oh, 't is, be sure, Beaucoup d'amour; Only love, -- much love! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SERVICE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON ANCHORED TO THE INFINITE by EDWIN MARKHAM LAMENT FOR CULLODEN by ROBERT BURNS A LIFE-LESSON by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE CHILD ALONE: 1. THE UNSEEN PLAYMATE by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON |