  Iknow not if she be unkind, If she have faults I do not care; Search through the world—where will you find A face like hers, a form, a mind? I love her to despair. If she be cruel, cruelty Is a great virtue, I will swear; If she be proud—then pride must be Akin to Heaven's divinest three— I love her to despair. Why speak to me of that and this? All you may say weighs not a hair! In her,—whose lips I may not kiss,— To me naught but perfection is!— I love her to despair. |
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