<h2>XII</h2>
<p>Indeed this very love which is my boast,<br/>
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,<br/>
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow<br/>
To draw men’s eyes and prove the inner cost,—<br/>
This love even, all my worth, to the uttermost,<br/>
I should not love withal, unless that thou<br/>
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,<br/>
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,<br/>
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak<br/>
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:<br/>
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,<br/>
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,—<br/>
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)<br/>
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.</p>
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