Preference. Currer Bell by Charlotte Brontë

Not in scorn do I reprove thee, / Not in pride thy vows I waive, / But, believe, I could not love thee, / Wert thou prince, and I a slave. / These, then, are thine oaths of passion? / This, thy tenderness for me? / Judged, even, by thine own confession, / Thou art steeped in perfidy. / Having vanquished, thou wouldst leave me! / Thus I read thee long ago; / Therefore, dared I not deceive thee, / Even with friendship's gentle show. / Therefore, with impassive coldness / Have I ever met thy gaze; / Though, full oft, with daring boldness, / Thou thine eyes to mine didst raise. / Why that smile? Thou now art deeming / This my coldness all untrue, -- / But a mask of frozen seeming, / Hiding secret fires from view. / Touch my hand, thou self-deceiver; / Nay-be calm, for I am so: / Does it burn? Does my lip quiver? / Has mine eye a troubled glow? / Canst thou call a moment's colour / To my forehead -- to my cheek? / Canst thou tinge their tranquil pallor / With one flattering, feverish streak? / Am I marble? What! no woman / Could so calm before thee stand? / Nothing living, sentient, human, / Could so coldly take thy hand? / Yes -- a sister might, a mother: / My good-will is sisterly: / Dream not, then, I strive to smother / Fires that inly burn for thee. / Rave not, rage not, wrath is fruitless, / Fury cannot change my mind; / I but deem the feeling rootless / Which so whirls in passion's wind. / Can I love? Oh, deeply -- truly -- / Warmly -- fondly -- but not thee; / And my love is answered duly, / With an equal energy. / Wouldst thou see thy rival? Hasten, / Draw that curtain soft aside, / Look where yon thick branches chasten / Noon, with shades of eventide. / In that glade, where foliage blending / Forms a green arch overhead, / Sits thy rival, thoughtful bending / O'er a stand with papers spread -- / Motionless, his fingers plying / That untired, unresting pen; / Time and tide unnoticed flying, / There he sits -- the first of men! / Man of conscience -- man of reason; / Stern, perchance, but ever just; / Foe to falsehood, wrong, and treason, / Honour's shield, and virtue's trust! / Worker, thinker, firm defender / Of Heaven's truth -- man's liberty; / Soul of iron -- proof to slander, / Rock where founders tyranny. / Fame he seeks not -- but full surely / She will seek him, in his home; / This I know, and wait securely / For the atoning hour to come. / To that man my faith is given, / Therefore, soldier, cease to sue; / While God reigns in earth and heaven, / I to him will still be true!