How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height My soul can reach
You're something between a dream and a miracle.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
Earth's crammed with heaven... But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.
No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.
I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you
Earth's crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God, But only he who sees takes off his shoes; The rest sit round and pluck blackberries.
You were made perfectly to be loved and surely I have loved you in the idea of you my whole life long.
Love me sweet With all thou art Feeling, thinking, seeing; Love me in the Lightest part, Love me in full Being.
Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.
Who so loves believes the impossible.
Quick-loving hearts ... may quickly loathe.
My sun sets to rise again.
The little cares that fretted me, I lost them yesterday Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play.
God's gifts put men's best dreams to shame.
Light tomorrow with today.
With stammering lips and insufficient sound I strive and struggle to deliver right the music of my nature.
All actual heroes are essential men, And all men possible heroes.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
Parting is all we know of heaven And all we need of hell
What we call Life is a condition of the soul. And the soul must improve in happiness and wisdom, except by its own fault. These tears in our eyes, these faintings of the flesh, will not hinder such improvement.
And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.
What I do, and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.
My patience has dreadful chilblains from standing so long on a monument.
I saw, in gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years, the melancholy years, Those of my own life, who by turns had flung A shadow across me.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love. Yet love me--wilt thou? Open thine heart wide, And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.
And yet, because I love thee, I obtain From that same love this vindicating grace, To live on still in love, and yet in vain
Measure not the work until the day's out and the labor done.
If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange And be all to me?
You have touched me more profoundly than I thought even you could have touched me - my heart was full when you came here today. Henceforward I am yours for everything.
