Lord Byron to Teresa Guiccioli

My dearest Teresa,

I have read this book in your garden; my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it.
It is a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. You will not understand these English words,
and others will not understand them,–which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian.
But you will recognize the handwriting of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that,
over a book which was yours, he could only think of love.

In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours–Amor mio–is comprised my existence here and hereafter.
I feel I exist here, and I feel I shall exist hereafter,to what purpose you will decide; my destiny rests with you,
I love you, and you love me,–at least, you say so, and act as if you did so,
which last is a great consolation in all events.

But I more than love you, and cannot cease to love you. Think of me, sometimes,
when the Alps and ocean divide us, but they never will, unless you wish it.