As to how I feel thou wilt never know
like winter days crownèd with golden sun,
like bold summer replete with summer snow
while autumn's trees lose of their foliage none.
Much better for thee to view such a thing
than perjure the priz'd innocence of thine,
for such is its worth angels would take wing
and gather round thee thinking thou divine.
But O, to be at sixes and sevens
not wishing for thee to know of mine plight,
mouthing mine sorrows to the cold heavens
bearing this burden of wrong that is right.
For better for thee to think what thou will
when for me bad is good while all good ill.

Beyond all things I ask that thou art true;
take all my love for thy love is thine own
for with no love no error will I rue,
no fault to seek nor grievance to atone.
Do what thou will for I do wish it so
for with my love thou hast a two-fold gain,
with mine and thine if thou wouldst suffer woe
then be not grieved for I will bear the pain.
Too sweet, too sweet are thou for this harsh world
and never was this world fit for thy state,
for where's the rose that keeps its beauty furl'd
and were it so 'twould be a counterfeit.
Be true to you as night doth follow day
or as the rose befitting as it may.

If I could only reach out from this page
and hold thee in mine arms like lovers should,
like those star-cross'd lovers from past-gone Age,
from Shakespeare's Verona, why then I would ⎯
I would, I would hold thee like Orpheus
on saving his one love in hell ensnared,
but, ay me! 'tis false hope and of no use
and all but just a dream a fool has dared.
But if thou would think of me when thou read
and gently touch this page as if 'twas me,
if thou would only do this simple deed
do this for then thy touch would set me free.
For better is thy touch however small
if just mine page than have no touch at all.