What you told me in the pride and haughtiness of your heart I never believed [this, by the way, was not strictly true]; but even if I had believed it, it could never have estranged me from you.
Is there any use in telling you--no, there is not--that I dream of your ripe lips more frequently than I say my prayers; that the old familiar rustle of your dress often returns upon my mind till it distracts me?
If you could condescend even only to see me again you would be breathing life into a corpse.

My pure, pure Grace, modest as a turtledove, how came I ever to possess you?
For the sake of being present in your mind on this lovers' day, I think I would almost rather have you hate me a little than not think of me at all.

You may call my fancies whimsical; but remember, sweet, lost one, that 'nature is one in love, and where 'tis fine it sends some instance of itself.' I will not intrude upon you further now.

Make me a little bit happy by sending back one line to say that you will consent, at any rate, to a short interview.

I will meet you and leave you as a mere acquaintance, if you will only afford me this slight means of making a few explanations, and of putting my position before you.