While yet my love is unaware just how,
How much he means, how much he's helped me through,
He still persists in loving me, and now,
I'd like to say the things I've been scared to.

I'm not eloquent, where he spins a thread
Of smoothness and of joy with every word.
I find hints of myself in things he's said--
I see me through his eyes in words I've heard.

He is most comely, smart in the extreme;
Epitome of all a man should be.
There's more to him than I know, it would seem;
And all I've seen is the purest beauty.

This love of mine means more than words can show;
This love of mine's more perfect than he knows.