How, do I love thee?

Why, nothing more and nothing less than the cool winters eve.

Nothing less than the sunset colored leaves that hath lied on the newly forsaken ground.

Nothing more than the perfect blue sky that hath yet to call hither the waning clouds of storm.

And yet; thou ask again; how do I love thee?

And this time, I freely answer, words soft in a forgotten mouth,

‘I love thee as I love a strong spring day and an easy winters' morn.

I love thee as though thee art the rarest thing in the world.’