If I did give you the moon and stars, what for? Let that pale, distant light frame every feature of your face, and still seem gauche in your grace.
If I did give you a flower, what for? In every hue and shape, from everywhere in the world, I could find none as rare as you.
If I told you how beautiful you were, would you think it enough? That the word seems to fail every smile I imagine you’ve ever had, the sound of your laugh. Even if you were angry, you would still seem far more radiant than what any other woman would described as being.