How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need; by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath.
Smiles, tears, of all my life!--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright,
Meet in the aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow'd to that tender light
Which heaven and gaudy day denies.
If ever two were one, then surely we.
If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee;
If ever wife was happy in a man,
Compare with me ye women you can
I prize thy love more than whole mines og Gold.
Or all the riches that the East doth hold.
My love is such that rivers cannot quench,
Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.
Thy love is such I can no way repay,
The heavens reward thee manifold repay,
Then while we live, in love let's so persevere
That when we live no more, we may live ever.
All love, at first, like generous wine,
Ferments and frets until 'tis fine,
But, when 'tis settled on the lee,
And from th' impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer still the older,
And Proves the pleasanter the colder
Deare, when I from thee am gone,
Gone are all my joyes at once;
I loved thee, and thee alone,
In those love I joyed once,
And although your sights I leave,
Sight wherein my joyes do lie,
Till that death do sense bereave,
Never shall affection die.
Through all eternity to
A joyful song I'll raise,
For oh! Eternity is too short
To utter all thy praise.
Never so happily
Did heaven and earth combine;
And yet 'tis flesh and blood alone
That makes her so divine
O, my luve's like a red red rose
That's newly sprung in June
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly played in tune
I love thee,
I love thee,
'Tis all that I can say;
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day.
What's in a name ? that which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet;
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called.