I could not like thee; nor would my devotion
And love be less wert thou the Queen of Crime.



The Rich Man


The rich man has his motor-car,
His country and his town estate.
He smokes a fifty-cent cigar
And jeers at Fate.

He frivols through the livelong day,
He knows not Poverty her pinch.
His lot seems light, his heart seems gay,
He has a cinch.

Yet though my lamp burns low and dim,
Though I must slave for livelihood--
Think you that I would change with him?
You bet I would!



To-night

_
Love me to-night! Fold your dear arms around me--
Hurt me--I do but glory in your might!