William Shakespeare, Sonnet xxiii
As an unperfect actor on the stage,
Who with his fear is put besides his part,
Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,
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Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart;
So I, for fear of trust, forget to say
The perfect ceremony of love's rite,
And in mine own love's strength seem to decay,
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O let my books be then the eloquence
And dumb presages of my speaking breast;
Who plead for love, and look for recompense
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More than that tongue that more hath more express'd .
O learn to read what silent love hath writ:
To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit.