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

There Shakespeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns o' the world; oh, eyes sublime With tears and laughter for all time!

My sun sets to raise again.

And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men.

Death forerunneth Love to win "Sweetest eyes were ever seen."

Girls blush, sometimes, because they are alive, half wishing they were dead to save the shame. The sudden blush devours them, neck and brow; They have drawn too near the fire of life, like gnats, and flare up bodily, wings and all. What then? Who's sorry for a gnat or girl?

And if God choose I shall but love thee better after death.