I reckon I'll keep my golden fiddle,
How blind are you not to know this is love?
A star so confusing than a riddle,
That draws men in thoughts vast as skies above;
Yet softly comes as waters of a brook,
To confine one in a deep sea of thoughts,
Like a lone shepherd doth search a stray crook.
Though like a scudding cloud you'll think of naught,
For if she'd be a gem, she's but a pearl,
Thrice more precious than gold is to a dwarf;
Yet if a flower seldom doth unfurl,
Despite for her sake, poetry, men ****.

**Ye men so blind to unfurl my riddle,
"Love was the key to my golden fiddle."