“I would build a cloudy HouseFor my thoughts to live in;When for earth too fancy-looseAnd 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.”

“I think of thee!-my thoughts do twine and budAbout thee, as wild vines, about a tree...Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understoodI will not have my thoughts instead of theeWho art dearer, better!”

“I love thee freely, as men strive for Right; I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise. I love thee with passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.”

“How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost 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 useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith 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.”

“My letters! all dead paper, mute and white!And yet they seem alive and quiveringAgainst my tremulous hands which loose the stringAnd let them drop down on my knee to-night.This said, -- he wished to have me in his sightOnce, as a friend: this fixed a day in springTo come and touch my hand ... a simple thing,Yet I wept for it! -- this, ... the paper's light ...Said, Dear I love thee; and I sank and quailedAs if God's future thundered on my past.This said, I am thine -- and so its ink has paledWith lying at my heart that beat too fast.And this ... O Love, thy words have ill availedIf, what this said, I dared repeat at last!”

“What I do, and what I dream include thee, as the wine must taste of its own grapes.”

“I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.”