No one so much as you
Loves this my clay,
Or would lament as you
Its dying day.
.
You know me through and through
Though I have not told,
And though with what you know
You are not bold.
.
None ever was so fair
As I thought you:
Not a word can I bear
Spoken against you.
.
All that I ever did
For you seemed coarse
Compared with what I hid
Nor put in force.
.
My eyes scarce dare meet you
Lest they should prove
I but respond to you
And do not love.
.
We look and understand,
We cannot speak
Except in trifles and
Words the most weak.
.
For I at most accept
Your love, regretting
That is all: I have kept
Only a fretting
.
That I could not return
All that you gave
And could not ever burn
With the love you have,
.
Till sometimes it did seem
Better it were
Never to see you more
Than linger here
.
With only gratitude
Instead of love -
A pine in solitude
Cradling a dove.
.
For some reason it reminds me of Audens Lullaby. A bit lost about what to 'do' with love received. A bit English, really?
