if only

found this in one of my very very old poetry books .

how do i love thee. let me count the ways - elizabeth barret browning

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 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.

how i miss the days of doing lit. roars. chem and bio were pains in my arse. i'm just not a sci person -.- ah wells. math tmr. haha, i'm not having high hopes. haven't really put in a lot of effort. shrugs. pissed off at my math tutor. and bad grades this time isn't gonna make her any happier. blearghs.

spain lost to france ): no more torres. no more raul. and they were playing so much better! gahh. so now i've only got england and portugal left to support, and one of em's going out on sat cos they're playing each other. wonderful. stupid fifa. hah, jun wee and i were so upset last night :p i stayed up to watch. grins. then went to sch without slping today. sheesh. and stupid jeremy had to rub it in.

yayy. last paper tmr. so i'm free after tmr :D hee. shopping time! so many overdue shopping trips. fun fun fun.

i wish you could say all you wanted was for me to be happy.

i lift my heart up solemnly - elizabeth barret browning

I lift my heavy heart up solemnly,
As once Electra her sepulchral urn,
And, looking in thine eyes, I overturn
The ashes at thy feet. Behold and see
What a great heap of grief lay hid in me,
And how the red wild sparkles dimly burn
Through the ashen greyness. If thy foot in scorn
Could tread them out to darkness utterly,
It might be well perhaps. But if instead
Thou wait beside me for the wind to blow
The grey dust up, . . . those laurels on thine head,
O my Belovèd, will not shield thee so,
That none of all the fires shall scorch and shred
The hair beneath. Stand farther off then! go.

: jie kou :: jay chou :
angsty chi song. haha.