Like Browning, I ask 'How do I love thee?' I love thee as I once did myself, Asking happiness for me. Now I ask it only for thee. I ask it of the sun that goes down And the pale morning light That relieves me of my dream-ridden night; I ask it of the dawn chorus that it may herald for you A day free from pain; I ask it of the rain In which you joy to lift your face; I ask it of the wind in the wood Through which you walk That it might blow through your head And bring you back to bed And me. How do I love thee? I cannot really tell, For it is a pain Like a no known ache, A pain with which I would not part, For I treasure life, And life is my heart, And my heart is you. — Catherine Cookson, from *Just a Saying*
