Love me – how I love you

“Love me, for I love you”–and answer me,
“Love me, for I love you”–so shall we stand
As happy equals in the flowering land
Of love, that knows not a dividing sea.
Love builds the house on rock and not on sand,
Love laughs what while the winds rave desperately;
And who hath found love’s citadel unmann’d?
And who hath held in bonds love’s liberty?
My heart’s a coward though my words are brave
We meet so seldom, yet we surely part
So often; there’s a problem for your art!
Still I find comfort in his Book, who saith,
Though jealousy be cruel as the grave,
And death be strong, yet love is strong as death.

-by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Mary Magdalene

She came in deep repentance,
And knelt down at his feet
Who can change the sorrow into joy.
The bitter into sweet.

She had cast away her jewels
And her rich attire,
And her breast was filled with a holy shame,
And her heart with a holy fire.

Her tears were more precious
Than her precious pearls –
Her tears that fell upon His feet
As she wiped them with her curls.

Her youth and her beauty
Were budding to the prime;
But she wept for the great transgression,
The sin of other time.

Trembling betwixt hope and fear,
She sought the King of Heaven,
Forsook the evil of her ways,
Loved much, and was forgiven.

-by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)

Song

When I am dead, my dearest,
Sing no sad songs for me;
Plant thou no roses at my head,
Nor shady cypress tree:
Be the green grass above me
With showers and dewdrops wet;
And if thou wilt, remember,
And if thou wilt, forget.

I shall not see the shadows,
I shall not feel the rain;
I shall not hear the nightingale
Sing on, as if in pain:
And dreaming through the twilight
That doth not rise nor set,
Haply I may remember,
And haply may forget.

-by Christina Georgina Rossetti (1830-1894)

How do I love thee?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I 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 everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with a 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 all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

-by Elizabeth Barrett Browning (1806-1861)