Forepledged

O woman, let thy heart not cleave
To any poet's soul;
For he the muse will never leave,
But follow to life's goal.

Then trust him not, he is not thine,
Whate'er he seems to be;
Strong unseen tendrils round him twine,
And keep him still from thee.

His words with passion are athrill,
And bear contagious fire;
He knows the charmer's perfect skill
To wake the heart's desire.

But love him not, his love is woe;
The genius at his side
Would prove for thee a fatal foe
Wert thou his wedded bride.