And wilt thou have me fashion into speech The 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 thy feet. I cannot teach My hand to hold my spirits so far off From myself--me--that I should bring thee proof In words, of love hid in me out of reach. Nay, let the silence of my womanhood Commend my woman-love to thy belief, - Seeing that I stand unwon, however wooed, And rend the garment of my life, in brief, By a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude, Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.

And Chaucer, with his infantine Familiar clasp of things divine.

Folded eyes see brighter colors than the open ever do.

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

Whoever lives true life, will love true love.

The devil's most devilish when respectable.

And lips say “God be pitiful,” Who ne'er said “God be praised.”