When I should be asleep to mine own voice
In telling thee how much thy love's my dream,
I find me listening to myself, the noise
Of my words othered in my hearing the
Yet wonder not: this is the poet's sou
I could not tell thee well of how I love,
Loved I not less by knowing it, were all
My self my love and no thought love to prov
What consciousness makes more by consciousness,
It makes less, for it makes it less itsel
My sense of love could not my love rich-dress
Did it not for it spend love's own love-pel
    Poet's love's this (as in these words I prove thee):
    I love my love for thee more than I love the