My father is eating me,
My brothers and sisters sit under the table,
Picking up my bones,
And they bury them
under the cold marble stones.
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
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 every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and and candlelight.
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 my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.