The gift you gave me, a copybook, has already been filled in my imagination – with verses that will stay in my memory far longer than they would in that pathetic book, outlasting any date, for eternity: or at the very least, as long as my brain and heart have the ability to survive. You will be recorded there until each of them has to give you up as they pass into oblivion. That poor book couldn't hold as much, nor do I need to keep notes to record the deep love I have for you. So I took the liberty of giving it away, trusting to that book that presents you more accurately. Keeping a written record of you would be admitting that I'm forgetful.
