What could I say to you that would have done
As little as the sonnets that I wrote?
Or rather what is there under the sun
That could, as well as they have done, emote?
What signs could I have made that, all at once,
Could have expressed as much and moved as little?
I'm both a total unromantic dunce,
Incapable of moving you one tittle
And he who writes his heart onto his sleeve
Embarrassing himself, and yes, you too.
We both may wish that we could disbelieve
The double strangeness when I write to you.
Yet as time passes, their effect has waxed
While their emotion already was maxed.
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