SONNET XLIII

How do I love thee, let me count the ways
I love thee to the depth and bredth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and Ideal Grace.
I love thee thee to the level of every days
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right
I love thee purely, as men 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.