Love let the wind cry on the dark mountain, bending the ash trees and the tall hemlocks with the great voice of thunderous legions, how I adore thee. Let the hoarse torrent in the blue canyon, murmuring mightily out of the gray mist of primal chaos cease not proclaiming, how I adore thee. Let the long rhythm of crunching rollers, breaking and bursting on the white seaboard titan and tireless. Tell, while the world stands, how I adore thee. Love, let the clear call of the tree cricket, frailest of creatures, green as the young grass. Mark with his trilling resonant bell-note, how I adore thee. But, more than all sounds, surer, serener… Fuller of passion and exultation. Let the hushed whisper in thine own heart say, how I adore thee.