In what bright realm, what sphere of radiant thought Did Nature find the model whence she drew That delicate dazzling image where we view Here on this earth what she in heaven wrought? What fountain-haunting nymph, what dryad, sought In groves, such golden tresses ever threw Upon the gust? What heart such virtues knew?— Though her chief virtue with my death is frought. He looks in vain for heavenly beauty, he Who never looked upon her perfect eyes, The vivid blue orbs turning brilliantly – He does not know how Love yields and denies; He only knows, who knows how sweetly she Can talk and laugh, the sweetness of her sighs.
You do know that I'm going to essentially think of you as my girlfriend, right? Y'know. Just making sure you had that figured out. Smack me if you want me to quit. What're you doing tonight?