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| How do I Love Thee 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 every day'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 the 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. Elizabeth Barrnett Browning She Walks In Beauty She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies, And all that's best of dark and bright, Meet in the aspect and her eyes; Thus mellow'd to that tender light Which heaven and gaudy day denies. Lord Byron It is almost here, that special time of year. When hearts and flowers by the hours are brought to all who seek; When kisses swirl and words do peak into little tuffs of cotton (candy) my sweet. So be my love and be my own and call me on the telephone or send a card, that is not hard, right to my waiting door, and I'll be yours forevermore - Unknown - All love, at first, like generous wine, Ferments and frets until 'tis fine, But, when 'tis settled on the lee, And from th' impurer matter free, Becomes the richer still the older, And Proves the pleasanter the colder Samuel Butler The Passionate Shepherd To His Love Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks, By shallow rivers to whose falls Melodious birds sing madrigals. And I will make thee beds of roses And a thousand fragrant posies, A cap of flowers, and a kirtle Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull; Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold: A belt of straw and ivy buds, With coral clasps and amber studs; And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love. The shepherd swains shall dance and sing For thy delight each May morning; If these delights thy mind may move, Then live with me and be my love. Christopher Marlowe |
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