Your friend? I am. In every way I can
Be - failing often, yet succeeding too.
Not as an angel, simply as a man,
I make a present of myself to you.
What do you get? The shyness from my youth.
Also the gaiety bestowed at birth.
Devotion to you and, as keen, to truth,
My only value as God gives me worth.
Would there were more, much more, to make me shine
Now as in Heaven I hope to do. But still
You have my poems, and they are yours, though mine.
There is my meaning. There my gift and skill
Together worked the best that I could do.
And all, most gratefully, is given to you.