You know I love you?
You are not angry ?" A sudden breeze stirred the apple blossoms, and they fell like a shower on her fair head.
"You must pardon me if I am beside myself with joy.

Looking on your face, I grow intoxicated with your beauty, as men do with rare wines.
Ah, lady! in the years to come and in the great world people may love you; but you shall look, and look in vain, for a love so true, so deep, so devoted as mine." "I believe it," she replied.
"You believe it, yet you are not angry with me?
You hold my life in your hands yet will not bid me go ?" He bent over her, his handsome face was glowing, his dark eyes flashing fire.
"I could fancy myself in a dream," he said; "it is too strange, too sweet to be true.

There must be some intoxication in these apple blossoms.

Dare I ask you one more grace ?" "I have not been very unkind," she said.
"Will you let me sometimes see you?
I will not presume upon your kindness.

Your face is to me what sunshine is to flowers.