I Love You More Than Word Can

Many A True Word Hath Been Spoken In Jest.

I Do Not Set My Life At A Pin's Fee, And For My Soul, What Can It Do To That, Being A Thing Immortal As Itself?

What E'er You Are That In This Desert Inaccessible, Under The Shade Of Melancholy Boughs, Lose And Neglect The Creeping Hours Of Time.

No Deeper Wrinkles Yet? Hath Sorrow Struck So Many Blows Upon This Face Of Mine And Made No Deeper Wounds?

The Summer's Flower Is To The Summer Sweet Though To Itself It Only Live And Die