Sonnet: I Thank You

I thank you, kind and best beloved friend,

With the same thanks one murmurs to a sister,

When, for some gentle favor, he hath kissed her,

Less for the gifts than for the love you send,

Less for the flowers, than what the flowers convey;

If I, indeed, divine their meaning truly,

And not unto myself ascribe, unduly,

Things which you neither meant nor wished to say,

Oh! tell me, is the hope then all misplaced?

And am I flattered by my own affection?

But in your beauteous gift, methought I traced

Something above a short-lived predilection,

And which, for that I know no dearer name,

I designate as love, without love’s flame.