An ode.it reads:
Shall I compare your heart to a precious emerald?
But yours can't be bought, or bartered or sold;
Shall I say your love's a red, red rose?
Yours is no mere symbol, heaven knows;
Shall I call your touch a spring's warm breeze?
But you remain gentle, while Winter does freeze;
And while a poem may redeem the time
And truth has been colored by clever rhyme
Your love is what it is, and none of these.