Apologia

I claimed to find you sonnets, but you knew
So quickly they were mine, and not by chance.
My whole design was obvious to you
But knowledge was but kindling to romance
And we rejoiced in what was understood.
I wrote you more, the pretense now foregone
And you who saw them then pronounced them good.
You read, and as you read it seemed a dawn
Perpetual, a new-beginning love
That never reached a middle or an end;
My sonnets fit your eye like hand in glove,
And you devoured everything I'd send.
I find, therefore, I must apologize
For all that took my sonnets from your eyes.