[Lyric] To Mrs. Alcott (Amos Bronson Alcott)

Mean are all titles of nobility,
And kins poor spendthrifts while I do compare
The wealth she daily lavishes on me
Of love, the noble kingdom that I share:
Is it the jealous year, for emphasis,
Sheds beauteous sunshine and refreshing dews?
My maiden's mouth doth softlier court and kiss,
Tint springtime's virgin cheek with rosier hues.

Fly faster o'er my page, impassioned quill,
Signing this note of mine with tenderer touch!
Say I no measure find to mete my will,
Say that I love, but cannot tell how much;
Let time and trouble the full story tell:
I cannot love thee more. I know I love thee well.