unexpressive

Hang there , my verse , in witness of my love .
And thou , thrice-crownèd queen of night , survey
With thy chaste eye , from thy pale sphere above ,
Thy huntress’ name that my full life doth sway .
O Rosalind , these trees shall be my books ,
And in their barks my thoughts I’ll character ,
That every eye which in this forest looks
Shall see thy virtue witnessed everywhere .
Run , run , Orlando , carve on every tree
The fair , the chaste , and unexpressive she .