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Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.

Category: Love Author: George Herbert

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Love in Fantastique Triumph satt,
Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,
For whom Fresh pains he did create,
And strange Tryanic power he show'd;
From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;
But 'twas from mine he took desire,
Enough to undo the Amorous World.
From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his Pride and Crueltie;
From me his Languishments and Feares,
And every Killing Dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,
And sett him up a Deity;
But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,
Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.

Category: Love Author: Aphra Behn

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Soul, heart, and body, we thus singly name,
Are not in love divisible and distinct,
But each with each inseparably link'd.
One is not honour, and the other shame,
But burn as closely fused as fuel, heat, and flame.

They do not love who give the body and keep
The heart ungiven; nor they who yield the soul,
And guard the body. Love doth give the whole;
Its range being high as heaven, as ocean deep,
Wide as the realms of air or planet's curving sweep.

Category: Love Author: Alfred Austin

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My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high;
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing
Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown,
But vainly flapp'd its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixt,
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close;
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrannic pow'r depose.

And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant poles have plac'd,
(Though love's whole world on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embrac'd;

Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramp'd into a planisphere.

As lines, so loves oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet;
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.

Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.


Category: Love Author: Andrew Marvell

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Last night, my darling, as you slept,
I thought I heard you sigh,
And to your little crib I crept,
And watched a space thereby;
And then I stooped and kissed your brow,
For oh! I love you so--
You are too young to know it now,
But some time you shall know!

Some time when, in a darkened place
Where others come to weep,
Your eyes shall look upon a face
Calm in eternal sleep,
The voiceless lips, the wrinkled brow,
The patient smile shall show--
You are too young to know it now,
But some time you may know!

Look backward, then, into the years,
And see me here to-night--
See, O my darling! how my tears
Are falling as I write;
And feel once more upon your brow
The kiss of long ago--
You are too young to know it now,
But some time you shall know.

Category: Love Author: Eugene Field

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I
The double-blossomed peach-trees with rosy bloom were gay
When grandpa rode beneath them upon his courting way,
From the white gate to the homestead they stretched in stately row,
And showered his path with petals, just sixty years ago.
His riding suit was spick and span, his jingling bridle rein,
Was polished to the limit, his top-boots shone again;
A mass of youthful vanity, from curly head to toe,
Was my darling gay young grandpa – just sixty years ago.

Upon the broad veranda, demure my grandma sat,
And hid her girlish blushes beneath her garden hat,
Her dainty flowing muslins enfolded her like snow;
Ah! Very sweet my grandma was, just sixty years ago.
With sweeping bow and fluttering heart he told his hopes and fears,
And grandma gently said him ‘Yea’, mid blushes, smiles and tears.
When the double-blossomed peach-trees with fruit were bending low,
Good Father Flynn united them – just sixty years ago.

II
There’s a sound of mirthful revel in the dear old home to-night,
Where the merry young folk frolic ‘neath the incandescent light,
Jazzing on the broad veranda, listening to the radio,
Knowing wonders quite undreamt of in the days of long ago.
On the vine-enclosed veranda, sits my grandpa in his chair,
And the flower-scented night winds stirs the white locks of his hair;
Grandma sits and smiles beside him, happy in the young folks glee,
Such a dainty dear old lady, ever young at heart is she.

And the harvest of their labours in the moonlight stretches wide
All the land they’ve won and toiled for as they struggled side by side,
In their brave old eyes no shadow from the griefs of gone-by years,
For their hearts beat high within them – dauntless breed of pioneers.
Hand in hand they sit together, while the angels smile above,
On their long unbroken record of faith, sacrifice and love;
From the double-blossomed peach trees come the petals falling slow,
Bringing sweet and fadeless memories of Sixty Years ago.

Category: Love Author: Alice Guerin Crist

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Beloved, those who moan of love's brief day
Shall find but little grace with me, I guess,
Who know too well this passion's tenderness
To deem that it shall lightly pass away,
A moment's interlude in life's dull play;
Though many loves have lingered to distress,
So shall not ours, sweet Lady, ne'ertheless,
But deepen with us till both heads be grey.

For perfect love is like a fair green plant,
That fades not with its blossoms, but lives on,
And gentle lovers shall not come to want,
Though fancy with its first mad dream be gone;
Sweet is the flower, whose radiant glory flies,
But sweeter still the green that never dies.

Category: Love Author: Archibald Lampman

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Yearning upon the faint rose-curves that flit
About her child-sweet mouth and innocent cheek,
And in her eyes watching with eyes all meek
The light and shadow of laughter, I would sit
Mute, knowing out two souls might never knit;
As if a pale proud lily-flower should seek
The love of some red rose, but could not speak
One word of her blithe tongue to tell of it.

For oh, my Love was sunny-lipped and stirred
With all swift light and sound and gloom not long
Retained; I, with dreams weighed, that ever heard
Sad burdens echoing through the loudest throng
She, the wild song of some May-merry bird;
I, but the listening maker of a song.

Category: Love Author: Archibald Lampman

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One, two, three, four —
find yourself a wife — choose her!
Do not dally, don't be late
or someone else'll get there first.

I myself found me some honey
but it never came to my lips.
Two she had her, this one widow:
one brunette and one had fair hair.

Not girls-pearls,
fillies fine and gorgeous,
the joy of whoever saw their face
and I loved both of them.

But who'll foretell and who'll say
which of them I loved more.
The time went, I don't know how
I dillydallied, dillydallied.

Suddenly a demon came and scarfed them
a demon with a ponytail and handlebar mustache.
And I remained, silly bugger,
an old bachelor ever after.

And from this to all the young men
a moral to the wise and let who learns learn.

One, two, three, four —
find yourself a wife — choose her!
Do not dally, don't be late
or someone else'll get there first.

Category: Love Author: Hayyim Nahman Bialik

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Beauty and love are all my dream;
They change not with the changing day;
Love stays forever like a stream
That flows but never flows away;

And beauty is the bright sun-bow
That blossoms on the spray that showers
Where the loud water falls below,
Making a wind among the flowers.

Category: Love Author: Andrew John Young

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There are some things still in this life of ours
The years weed not away,
But reverse the fate of dying flowers,
And bloom but in decay.
So I look back through the many years
Whose suns have long since set,
And feel, like the coming up of tears,
The old love living yet.


O the heart will wither up, when youth
Withdraws its fleeting light,
And think no more with the same sweet truth
That fed it day and night;
But amid the wreck of all we see,
And the cares that come and fret,
It will keep a bud from the blighted tree
Of the old love living yet.


There gathers still, like a mighty thought,
Around that magic name,
All the beating of a heart that brought
Its strength to one sweet aim;
And the flush and warmth of those early dreams--
Ah, what heart could e'er forget!
Will waken up like the sun's first beams
At the old love living yet.


So I think, as a dying light is toss'd
From the gladness seen behind,
That whatever we in our youth have lost
But models the future mind;
And I weep as I think how my hopes may fall
Like the leaves when the winds are met,
And leave in my heart a scorn for all
Save the old love living yet.

Category: Love Author: Alexander Anderson

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In the bright dreams of early youth,
I strung my lyre, and waked a strain,
In praise of friendship, love and truth,
Without a thought of care or pain;
But soon, in answer to my strain,
A voice came pealing from above,
Sounding o'er valley, hill and plain --
Where 's he that knows the power of love?


The brainless youth in lady's bower,
Who, sighing, chants some amorous lay,
Or twines a wreath, or plucks a flower,
A tribute of his love to pay.
Or, mid the crowd, the gallant gay,
With witty jest, and jibe, and jeer,
Spending in revelry and play
The few bright hours allowed him here,


Thinks that he knows what 't is to love --
Speaks of that pure and holy flame
Which emanates from God above,
As though 't were nothing but a name
That noble, pure, and holy flame,
Jehovah's chiefest attribute,
Implanted in the human frame,
Raised man above the sordid brute.


And he who ever feels its power,
Whate'er his station, high or low,
In pleasure's or in sorrow's hour,
Will feel his inmost bosom glow
With love to all, both friend and foe;
For God commandeth all to love,
And those who would his glories know,
Must learn this truth, that God is love.

Category: Love Author: James Monroe Whitfield

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In that book which is
My memory . . .
On the first page
That is the chapter when
I first met you
Appear the words . . .
Here begins a new life

Category: Love Author: Dante Alighieri

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