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XXIII



As an unperfect actor on the stage,

Who with his fear is put beside his part,

Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,

Whose strength\'s abundance weakens his own heart;

So I, for fear of trust, forget to say

The perfect ceremony of love\'s rite,

And in mine own love\'s strength seem to decay,

O\'ercharg\'d with burthen of mine own love\'s might. 

O! let my looks be then the eloquence

And dumb presagers of my speaking breast,

Who plead for love, and look for recompense,

More than that tongue that more hath more express\'d.

  O! learn to read what silent love hath writ:

  To hear with eyes belongs to love\'s fine wit.

 	--William Shakespeare

CXVII



Accuse me thus: that I have scanted all,

Wherein I should your great deserts repay,

Forgot upon your dearest love to call, 

Whereto all bonds do tie me day by day;

That I have frequent been with unknown minds,

And given to time your own dear-purchas\'d right;

That I have hoisted sail to all the winds

Which should transport me farthest from your sight.

Book both my wilfulness and errors down,

And on just proof surmise, accumulate;

Bring me within the level of your frown,

But shoot not at me in your waken\'d hate;

  Since my appeal says I did strive to prove

  The constancy and virtue of your love.

 	--William Shakespeare

It would be possible to describe everything scientifically, but it would
make no sense; it would be without meaning, as if you described a
Beethoven symphony as a variation of wave pressure. -- Albert Einstein

It\'s strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for
words.
T. S. Eliot