Elizabeth Barrett Browning

And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.

And lilies are still lilies, pulled
By smutty hands, though spotted from their white.

First time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
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First time he kiss'd me, he but only kiss'd
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since it grew more clean and white.

The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.

The music soars within the little lark,
And the lark soars.

Who so loves believes the impossible.

Who so loves believes the impossible.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways. I love thee to the depth and breadth and height read more

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 everyday'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.