I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.
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.
But so fair, She takes the breath of men away Who gaze upon her unaware.
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.
God Himself is the best Poet, And the Real is His song.
I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless; That only men incredulous of despair, half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air beat upward to god’s throne in loud access of shrieking and reproach
Most illogical Irrational nature of our womanhood, That blushes one way, feels another way, And prays, perhaps another!
If we tried To sink the past beneath our feet, be sure The future would not stand.
I, who thought to sink, was caught up into love, and taught the whole of life in a new rhythm.
I would build a cloudy House For my thoughts to live in; When for earth too fancy-loose And too low for Heaven! Hush! I talk my dream aloud – I build it bright to see, – I build it on the moonlit cloud, To which I looked with thee.
Life treads on life, and heart on heart; We press too close in church and mart To keep a dream or grave apart.
Yet how proud we are, In daring to look down upon ourselves!