O’ Sweetest Sight,
As first I beheld your pleasant visage, a thunderous pulse ran through my veins, and left me shaken, as if by earthquake or long-suffering peasant mother.
The fleeting faces I had held but moments before aloft as if precious baubles became but trinkets then, befit a gypsy or an American.
I read the charming lines you had arranged with a scholar’s care, and smiled at each clever conjunction. I knew at once I wanted thee.
I fear not your likely rejection for I hold fast the hope that that which moves me shall soon move you, like some walkway not yet devised which shall bear dandies from shop to shop at an easy pace.
And should you feel a twinge of kind, fear not that our connection shall fail at the commonalities. I, too, am fond of Bach and penny dreadfuls.
I have stated my case, however poorly, and leave it to thee to solve. I shall anxiously await my manservant, and the letter I hope he shall soon be able to read to me.
Your newfound admirer,
P.S. I have included an etching of my schlong.