How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach
Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Sonnets from the Portuguese
in spite of everything
which breathes and moves, since Doom
(with white longest hands
neatening each crease)
will smooth entirely our minds
--before leaving my room
i turn, and (stooping
through the morning) kiss
this pillow, dear
where our heads lived and were.
e.e. Cummings, 1926
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