Donald P. Goodman III
How do I love thee? Let me count the many ways; I've given to thee every joy that thou hast known: the sweet rejoicing of thy youth's most precious days, the happiness which fills thy prime when thou art grown. And when thou spat and scorn'd me, still I lov'd thee well; thou brok'st the world, and brok'st my heart, and yet I held; thou brok'st e'en me; I bled for thee, until I fell, blood spill'd by thee, whom I have lov'd, but yet rebell'd. And still each day I suffer yet the self-same pain inflicted by the one I lov'd, with whom I dwell'd. How do I love thee? None can such a love contain! A love which joyfully will hurry to be slain!