For I would hear the murmuring of my thoughts;
And more of voice than of that other music
That grows around the strings of quivering lutes;
But most of thought; for with my mind I listen,
And when the leaves of sound are shed upon it,
If there's no seed remembrance grows not there.
So life, so death; a song, and then a dream!
Begin before another dewdrop fall
From the soft hold of these disturbed flowers,
For sleep is filling up my senses fast,
And from these words I sink.
Song.
How many times do I love thee, dear?
Tell me how many thoughts there be
In the atmosphere
Of a new-fall'n year,
This theme of enumerating the innumerable to quantify love goes all the way back to Roman times, specifically, the incredibly beautiful and refined  Catullus 7  with which Beddoes definitely would have been familiar. (Please excuse the rather silly and archaic translation, you can find the Latin  here 
 Catullus begins: 
 How many of your kisses, you ask, would be enough and more, my Lesbia? As great as the number of Lybian sands… 
 and continues: 
 Or as the multitudes of stars, that in silent night,  look down on furtive lovers…
From Torrismond Garden Scene