T.S. Eliot
A Dedication to my Wife

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Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? | Come live with me and be my Love | O my Luve's like a red, red rose
She walks in beauty, like the night | Gather ye rosebuds while ye may | How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways

To whom I owe the leaping delight
That quickens my senses in our wakingtime
And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime,
     The breathing in unison

Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other
Who think the same thoughts without the need of speech
And babble the same speech without need of meaning.

No peevish winter wind shall chill
No sullen tropic sun shall wither
The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only

But this dedication is for others to read:
These are private words addressed to you in public.