I am too fond. I cannot but be so
Whilst you are still before me to adore.
The love within me ever seems to grow
'Til it has vaulted past the common store
And thrown it down, crying "out, out, too weak,
Too insubstantial to be thought enough!
There are far higher purposes I seek;
I tarry not among such lowly stuff."
So does my love, beyond all normalcy,
Exult within itself, and still increase,
While I, the proof-text of its potency,
Enjoy its wonders and declare it peace
To be so busied with such loving thought:
Which comes unbidden, and remains unsought.
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