Only I discern / Infinite passion, and the pain / of finite hearts that yearn.

The ocean-eagle soared / From his nest by the white wave's foam, / And the rocking pines of the forest roared — / This was their welcome home!

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 with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all my life!— and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

I love thee—in thy sight / I stand transfigured, glorified aright / With conscience of the new rays that proceedOut of my face toward thine.

Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed / And worthy of acceptation / Fire is bright, / Let temple burn, or flax / an equal light / Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose / With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath, / Smiles, tears, of all of my life! and, if God / choose / I shall but love thee better after death.

Hurt a fly! He would not for the world: he's pitiful to flies even. Sing, says he, and tease me still, if that's your way, poor insect.

The exchange of sympathy for gratitude is the most princely thing!

Amazing how we can light tomorrow with today.

The critics could never mortify me out of heart, because I love poetry for its own sake, and, tho' with no stoicism and some ambition, care more for my poems than for my poetic reputation.