No one so much as
Loves this my clay,
Or would lament as
Its dying day.
You know me through and
Though I have not told,
And though with what you
You are not bold.
None ever was so
As I thought you:
Not a word can I
Spoken against you.
All that I ever
For you seemed
Compared with what I
Nor put in force.
My eyes scarce dare meet
Lest they should proveI but respond to
And do not love.
We look and understand,
We cannot
Except in trifles
Words the most weak.
For I at most
Your love,
That is all:
I have
Only a fretting That I could not
All that you
And could not ever
With the love you have,
Till sometimes it did
Better it
Never to see you
Than linger here With only
Instead of love -A pine in
Cradling a dove.
