"You have such a fantastic twist of words," she said.
"A way with words I may have, but I would become mute for the price of communicating my feelings with you. I would never write again. Even would I give up sight, if my last vision were your eyes smiling favorably upon me, and I remained with the fortune to feel your warm embrace. The pain of any deprivation could not sum the pain of the distance bred by your reading these words, this poem that is my estranged love for you.
Even my pen, then, toils unrequited.
"A way with words I may have, but I would become mute for the price of communicating my feelings with you. I would never write again. Even would I give up sight, if my last vision were your eyes smiling favorably upon me, and I remained with the fortune to feel your warm embrace. The pain of any deprivation could not sum the pain of the distance bred by your reading these words, this poem that is my estranged love for you.
Even my pen, then, toils unrequited.