I beg thy pardon if I’ve wronged,
By telling in plain rhyme,
My 'like' surpasses friendly 'like',
Aye, and for all time;
My heart’ll beat for thee alone,
As a cathedral to its bells:
Thou soundest in me sacred tune,
From its patient tower, knells;
So deep in me, “Thou canst not see!
Thou canst not ever see!”
Wouldst thou withhold thy friendly love,
From simple vanity?
Or lack of care? Then friend, prepare!
For despite these verses free,
And a sadly passing sort of love:
I love no more than thee.

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