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)
