Monday, April 26, 2010

How Do I love thee ?

Sometimes, as I listen to the unintelligible screamed garbage hurled at young people by their musical idols, or read truncated phone messages or coded Face Book entries, I wonder how lovers of today express themselves. Are their messages stored away lovingly, or are they unworthy of remembrance ? I realize that "poetry" can be superficial or pretentious at times but it is a hard heart that would not be moved by the following.

In the Victorian era, Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote one of the loveliest and most enduring love poems. It is well worth visiting once again.

How shall I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when being out 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.

Perhaps, being modern, you prefer something briefer.
If, instead of being a petite Victorian lady, the writer was one of the following, the answer to this question may have been different.
How do I Love thee ?
Cardiologist ...with all my heart.
Marathon Runner ... all the way.
Indian ... without reservation.
Contortionist ... head over heels
Psychoanalyst .. unshrinkingly
Dieter ... through thick and thin.
Wheelwright ... tirelessly.
Farmer ... whole hog.
Coturier ... in my fashion.

Now, a return to sanity. There is a temptation to look at "The Birthday" by Christina Georgina Rosetti. But let's see how a male looks at this Question. In Sonnet 18, my friend William S. says;

Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath too short a date:
Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;
And every fair from fair declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;
Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:
So long as man can breath, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

And finally, a cheeky entry of the Wordsmith's cellared for maturity half a dozen years ago. There is no claim to parity with the words that have gone before. It is simply a modest addendum.

Come with me and share my life;
Green are the hills and clear the rippling streams.
Abandon all this crazy noise and strife,
Enjoy with me some space and time for dreams.

The clock of nature moves with slower beat,
Untrammelled by the artificial goals
That cities force unseeing slaves to meet,
Squeezing their lives and shrivelling their souls.

The wooded fields and endless skies expand
Each sense to open every door;
Horizons beckon with a promise grand,
Their changing sameness blending peace with awe.

Together we will spurn the world,
Needing no other, if you would be my wife.
Our flag of passion waits to be unfurled;
Oh, come with me and be my Life !

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