How could I love you more? 
I would give up 
Even that beauty I have loved too well 
That I might love you better. 
Alas, how poor the gifts that lovers give 
I can but give you of my flesh and strength, 
I can but give you these few passing days 
And passionate words that, since our speech began, 
All lovers whisper in all ladies' ears. 

I try to think of some one lovely gift
No lover yet in all the world has found; 
I think: If the cold sombre gods 
Were hot with love as I am 
Could they not endow you with a star 
And fix bright youth for ever in your limbs?
Could they not give you all things that I lack? 

You should have loved a god; I am but dust. 
Yet no god loves as loves this poor frail dust.