I know not if she be unkind,
If she have faults I do not care;
Search through the world--where will you find
A face like hers, a form, a mind?
_I love her to despair._
If she be cruel, cruelty
Is a great virtue, I will swear;
If she be proud--then pride must be
Akin to Heaven's divinest three--
_I love her to despair._
Why speak to me of that and this?
All you may say weighs not a hair!
In her,--whose lips I may not kiss,--
To me naught but perfection is!--
_I love her to despair._
