I love you not only for what you are

but for what I am when I'm with you;

I love you not only for what you have

made of yourself but what you are making

of me;

I love you for putting your hand into my

heaped up heart and passing over all the

foolish weak things you can't help dimly

seeing there, and drawing out in 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 work of my every

day

life not a reproach but a song;

I love you because you have done more than

any creed could have done to make me good

and more than any fate could have done to

make me happy;

You have done it without a touch, without

a word, without a sigh;

You have done it by being yourself.

Perhaps that is what having a friend means,

after all.