Dear friend who hast misjudged me so,
The time may come, when you will know
The wrong you did me, and the pain
You caused the heart you thought so vain.

You deemed it vain, because 'twas light;
Judged by the surface.  Out of sight
Were chords no hand had ever woke,
And yet they trembled when you spoke.

What sounds therefrom you might have brought
God only knows, had you not thought
The heart so vain and poor a thing
That all alike could make it sing.

'Tis true it gives a lightsome air
To all who touch it, here or there.
Harps strung alway for music so
Must needs respond when breezes blow.

But there are better chords that would
Have answered to your touch for good.
Chords full and deep, and rich and grand,
Worthy of the master's withheld hand.

Maurine by Ella Wheeler
Milwaukee: Cramer, Aikens & Cramer, 1876.

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