How can I tell the many thousand ways by which the heart keeps the secrets it betrays? The lover in the husband may be lost. Love is ever sick, and yet is never dying. No cord nor cable can so forcibly draw, or hold so fast, as love can do with a twined thread.
See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! But this is the best of all I hold - his eyes are in his mind.
I know that I love thee, whatever thou art. Heaven's great artillery. Love, as is told by the seers of old, comes as a butterfly tipped with gold. This is the very ecstasy of love, whose violent property forebodes itself.
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