I'll seek to bind you in a willing fetter.
Is this presumption? Not from friend to friend,
Whose souls unite like clasping hands of lovers;
Yet can I breathe no word of love, to end
The delicate doubt that o'er the unspoken hovers.
If I were hopeless that you loved me not,
My hopeless love, confess'd, myself would flatter,
But should the blissful dream be true, I wot
That love confess'd the joy of love would shatter.
My Queen, indeed as king I'd love to lord it;