The stages of development of spousal love are described in our literature, sometimes one stage at a time, sometimes in consideration of all the stages.
Andrew Klavan, who does not join us here and is therefore ultimately foolish, made in a recent podcast a wise recommendation on this subject. He recommended the poem Wordsworth wrote about his own spouse: She was a phantom of delight. It recounts the progression of the poet’s understanding of his lady, from initial sensory impact, to appreciation of manners, ultimately to respect for her transcendent humanity: a Being breathing thoughtful breath.
In a similar vein is a poem that starts off Love is waiting . . .
It does not mean Love is waiting for you, or any such stuff. It means that loving constitutes waiting. Look; you will see.
na niebieski mrok
na zieloność traw
na piesczczotę rzęs.
for the blue dusk
for the green grass
for the embrace of eyelids.
(As the Italians say: amore fulmineo! thunderbolt love!)
But we continue:
na pukanie do drzwi
for the knock on the door
na kryzk protestu
for cry of protest
(Mutual trust gives us the freedom to be mutually, and non-fatally, candid.)
na koniec świata
for the end of the world
(And so we can be constant through the life we are given.)