You’re something between a dream and a miracle.

If thou must love me, let it be for noughtExcept for love’s sake only. Do not say’I love her for her smile … her look … her wayOf speaking gently, … for a trick of...

Earth’s crammed with heaven, And every common bush afire with God.

Yes,” I answered you last night;”No,” this morning, sir, I say.Colours seen by candlelightWill not look the same by day.

Why, conqueringMay prove as lordly and complete a thingIn lifting upward, as in crushing low!And as a vanquished soldier yields his swordTo one who lifts him from the bloody earth,Even so, Belovëd, I at last...

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...

The heart doth recognise thee,Alone, alone! The heart doth smell thee sweet,Doth view thee fair, doth judge thee most complete,—-Though seeing now those changes that disguise thee.

I am one who could have forgotten the plague, listening to Boccaccio’s stories; and I am not ashamed of it.

And yet, because I love thee, I obtainFrom that same love this vindicating grace,To live on still in love, and yet in vain

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach

And I breathe large at home. I drop my cloak,Unclasp my girdle, loose the band that tiesMy hair…now could I but unloose my soul!We are sepulchred alive in this close world,And want more room.

You have touched me more profoundly than I thought even you could have touched me – my heart was full when you came here today. Henceforward I am yours for everything.

I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you

In this abundant earth no doubtIs little room for things worn out:Disdain them, break them, throw them by!And if before the days grew roughWe once were lov’d, us’d — well enough,I think, we’ve far’d, my...

His answer was – not the common gallantries which come so easily to the lips of me – but simply that he loved me – he met argument with fact. He told me – that...

Earth’s crammed with heaven…But only he who sees, takes off his shoes.

Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.Yet love me–wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.

Life loves to be taken by the lapel and told: “I’m with you kid. Let’s go.

Why, what is to live? Not to eat and drink and breathe,—but to feel the life in you down all the fibres of being, passionately and joyfully.

Quick-loving hearts … may quickly loathe.

And trade is art, and art’s philosophy,In Paris.

Enough! we’re tired, my heart and I.We sit beside the headstone thus,And wish that name were carved for us.The moss reprints more tenderlyThe hard types of the mason’s knife,As Heaven’s sweet life renews earth’s lifeWith...

The picture of helpless indolence she calls herselfsublimely helpless and impotentI had done living I thoughtWas ever life so like death before? My face was so close against the tombstones, that there seemed no room...

Our Euripides the human,With his droppings of warm tears,and his touchings of things common Till they rose to meet the spheres.

No man can be called friendless who has God and the companionship of good books.

And wilt thou have me fashion into speechThe love I bear thee, finding words enough,And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,Between our faces, to cast light on each? -I dropt it at...

I thought once how Theocritus had sungOf the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years,Who each one in a gracious hand appearsTo bear a gift for mortals, old or young;And, as I mused it in...

Books, books, books!I had found the secret of a garret roomPiled high with cases in my father’s name;Piled high, packed large,–where, creeping in and outAmong the giant fossils of my past,Like some small nimble mouse...

I tell you hopeless grief is passionless,That only men incredulous of despair,Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight airBeat upward to God’s throne in loud accessOf shrieking and reproach. Full desertnessIn souls, as countries, lieth silent-bareUnder...

The wisest word man reaches is the humblest he can speak.

God’s gifts put men’s best dreams to shame.