I love you
                                         Not only for what
                                         You have made of yourself
                             But for what
                            You are making of me

I love you
For the part of me
            That you bring out;

			I love you
                                       For putting your hand
                                       Into my heaped-up heart
                                             And passing over
                                            All the foolish, weak things
                                                  That you can't help
                                                  Dimly seeing there,
                                                           And for drawing out
                                                           Into the light
                                                                  All the beautiful belongings
                                                                  That no one else had looked
                                                                          Quite far enough to find.

                                                   I love you because you
                                                            Are helping me to make
                                                           Of the lumber of my life
                                                Not a tavern
                                                But a temple;
                                       Out of the works
                                       Of my every day
                             Not a reproach
                            But a song.