I love this poem, and always will.

The Thought
Humbert Wolfe

I will not write a poem for you
Because a poem, even the loveliest
Can only do what words can do -
Stir the air, dwindle, and be at rest

Neither will I hold you with my hands, because
The bones of my hands on yours would press
And you'd say after, "Mortal was,
And crumbling, that love's tenderness."

But I will hold you in a thought, without moving
Spirit or desire or will
For I know no other way of loving
That lingers when the heart is still