#Edward of Norwhich is a love sick teenager writing soppy poems and hiding them under his pillow

[themalhambird]

To R in the fervent hope he will never read it: My heart belongs to none but thee, mine own, gentle hart. Thou givs't, my love, my life to me- thou art the very air Which I do breathe, thou art my very soul and my whole self Is drawn to thee as a white rose to the warm sun. I do not intend to woo thy love with these words-- My tongue is lead and yours silver, well versed In poetry, eloquence, quick witted jest. It is your second nature, the art of disarming With a pretty turn of phrase designed to cut or heal. This being so I know you do not trust the craft To say something more than what the list'ner would hear.

And if I flatter myself that my words might please-- I would prove myself worthy to thee, dear, by deed.