O cousin Kate, my love was true,
Your love was writ in sand:
If he had fooled not me but you,
If you had stood where i stand,
He'd not have won me with his love,
Nor bought me with his land;
I would have spit into his face
And not have taken his hand.

Yet I have a gift you have not got,
And seem not like to get:
For all your clothes and wedding-ring
I've little doubt you fret.
My fair-haired son, my shame, my pride,
Cling closer, closer yet:
Your father would give lands for one
to wear his coronet

Author: Christina Rossetti