07-18-2009, 06:57 AM
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Poem by E.B. Browning.
How could it be that he couldn't know love? It was obvious in everything that he did, in every movement he made around Addison that it lived within him. Still, he seemed to profess ignorance to the simplest, most beautiful miracle life had to offer. She did not know how to explain adequately. It was hard to find words to describe the way she felt around him. It was like trying to fight gravity.
But he still wanted an answer. He could not be content to simply accept that there was something there between them. He had to pry it apart, dissect it and try to understand. She could understand his tendency to question things. She herself was curious by nature, and could push things to the edge. Geneva sighed and smiled, before she spoke. She couldn't give him a real answer, not in her own words, not yet.
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." The lime-eyed woman smiled and pressed her fingers lightly into his shoulders. "
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." She pressed her face against his shoulder.
"
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men might 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."
How could it be that he couldn't know love? It was obvious in everything that he did, in every movement he made around Addison that it lived within him. Still, he seemed to profess ignorance to the simplest, most beautiful miracle life had to offer. She did not know how to explain adequately. It was hard to find words to describe the way she felt around him. It was like trying to fight gravity.
But he still wanted an answer. He could not be content to simply accept that there was something there between them. He had to pry it apart, dissect it and try to understand. She could understand his tendency to question things. She herself was curious by nature, and could push things to the edge. Geneva sighed and smiled, before she spoke. She couldn't give him a real answer, not in her own words, not yet.
"How do I love thee? Let me count the ways." The lime-eyed woman smiled and pressed her fingers lightly into his shoulders. "
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." She pressed her face against his shoulder.
"
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men might 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."