Love, meet hearts.

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 Barret Browning, Sonnet 43)