The Brownings Go to Italy

Opera by Eleanor Everest Freer (1864 - 1942)

Word count: 286

?. How do I love thee [sung text not yet checked]

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 every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as [they]1 turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I [seemed]2 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.

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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):

  • CHI Chinese (中文) (M.W. Wang) , "我有多麽愛你?", copyright © 2008, (re)printed on this website with kind permission

View original text (without footnotes)
See also Karl Shapiro's parody How do I love you?
1 Steele: "men"
2 Steele: "seem"

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

?. Such a starved bank of moss [sung text not yet checked]

Such a starved bank of moss
Till, that May-morn,
Blue ran the flash across:
Violets were born!

Sky -- what a scowl of cloud
Till, near and far,
Ray on ray split the shroud:
Splendid, a star!

World -- how it walled about
Life with disgrace,
Till God's own smile came out:
That was thy face! 

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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]

?. I heard last night a little child go singing [sung text not yet checked]

I heard last night a little child go singing
 'Neath Casa Guidi windows, by the church,
O bella libertà, O bella! -- stringing
  The same words still on notes he went in search
So high for, you concluded the upspringing
  Of such a nimble bird to sky from perch
Must leave the whole bush in a tremble green,
  And that the heart of Italy must beat,
While such a voice had leave to rise serene
 'Twixt church and palace of a Florence street;
A little child, too, who not long had been
  By mother's finger steadied on his feet,
And still O bella libertà he sang.

Authorship

Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]