Lovers on Love
And all her face was honey to my mouth,
And all her body pasture to mine eyes;
The long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
The quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
The bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
And glittering eyelids of my soul's desire.
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Y
You are always new. The last of your kisses was
ever the sweetest; the last smile the brightest;
the last movement the gracefullest.
John Keats - to Fanny Brawne
Y
If I could write the beauty of your eyes
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say, "This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces."
William Shakespeare
Y
More white then whitest Lilies far,
Or snow, or whitest Swans you are:
More white then are the whitest Creames,
Or Moone-light Tinselling the streames:
More white then Pearls, or Juno's thigh;
Or Penlop's Arme of Yvorie.
True, I confesse; such Whites as these
May me delight, not fully please:
Till, like Ixion's cloud you be
White, warme, and soft to lye with me.
Robert Herrick
Y
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 Barrett Browning
Y
To me you are the gate of paradise. For you
I will renounce fame, creativity, everything.
Frederick Chopin -
to his mistress Delphine Potocka
Y
Thou art my life, my love, my heart,
The very eyes of me:
And hast command of every part
To live and die for thee.
Robert Herrick - To Anthea
Y
Oh call it by some better name,
For Friendship sounds too cold,
While Love is now a worldly flame,
Whose shrine must be of gold;
And Passion, like the sun at noon,
That burns o'er all he sees,
Awhile as warm, will set as soon -
Then, call it none of these.
Imagine something purer far,
More free from stain of clay
Than Friendship, Love, or Passion are,
Yet human still as they.
Thomas Moore - Ballads, Songs, etc.
Y
For myself I know not how to express my devotion to so fair a form: I want a brighter word than bright, a fairer word than fair. I almost wish we were butterflies and liv'd but three summer days-three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain …
John Keats -- to Fanny Brawne
Y
You could give yourself to another, but none could love you more purely or more completely than I did. To none could your happiness be holier, as it was to me, and always will be. My whole experience, everything that lives within me, everything, my most precious, I devote to you, and if I try to ennoble myself, this is done in order to become ever worthier of you, to make you even happier.
Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller -
to Lotte von Lengefeld
Y
Woman: Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth for his love is more exciting than wine; the king has brought me to his room, I will recall thy love more than wine. My king is at table, my own perfume fills the air; my lover has the scent of myrrh, he shall lie all night on my breasts. Like an apple tree among the trees of a grove, so is my beloved compared to other men, I love to sit in its shadow, and its fruit is sweet to my taste. He brought me to his festive hall, and raised the banner of love over me. Stay me with flagons and comfort me with apples, for I am faint with love. His left hand is under my head and his right hand caresses me. O my sisters, disturb not my lover, till he pleases. O my dove, in the cleft of the rock, in the secret hiding of the stair. My beloved is mine, I am his, he feeds among the lilies.
Man: Behold how fair thou art, my love, thy hair is of the balm of Gilead, thy teeth white as the fresh shorn sheep, thy lips are scarlet, thy speech charms all. Thy breasts are as twin young roses, that thrive among the lilies. Until daybreak and the shadows flee, I will visit the mountain of myrrh, the hill of frankincense. Thou has ravished my heart, my sweetheart, my bride, how much better is thy love than mine. And the smell of thy person than all the s./pices. Honey and milk are under thy tongue. Thy garments are like the smell of cedar, thou art a garden enclosed, orchard of pleasure fruits, all the chief s./pices, a well of living waters. There are threescore queens and fourscore concubines and virgins without number await. My spotless dove is the one.
Woman: Awake O north wind, blow on my garden. Fill the air with fragrance, let my lover come to his garden and eat his fruit of delight.
Man: I have entered my garden, my sweetheart, my bride, I am gathering my s./pices and myrrh. I am eating my honey, I am drinking my wine. O beloved, drink copiously.
Woman: I have already disrobed. Why should I get dressed again? Carefully bathed, shall I rise? My lover put his hand to the doorhole and my body thrilled and moved. I rose up to my beloved, my hands dripped with myrrh, fingers of sweet myrrh grasped the handle. My lover is handsome and strong, he is chief in ten thousand. His cheeks are as beds of herbs, s./pices and flowers. His lips are like lilies wet with liquid fragrant myrrh.
Man: The curve and join of your thighs are as jewels to be worked by a craftsman. Thy navel is like a chalice, never empty of cordial, thy belly is like a sheaf of wheat set with lilies, thy breasts are as twin roses. The delights of your love are without number. You are as graceful as a palm tree; I will clasp the boughs. Your breasts are as clusters of grapes. Your breath the fragrance of apples, and your mouth the finest wine. Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove so spotless.
Woman: My mother instructs me, have you drink the juice of my pomegranate, Left hand under my head, right hand to caress me. Quickly my love, be like a young stag on the mound of s./pice.
Old Testament - The Song of Songs
Y
Had we but world enough, and time,
This coyness, lady, were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long love's day.
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
Should'st rubies find: I by the tide
Of Humber would complain. I would
Love you ten years before the Flood:
And you should if you please refuse
Till the conversion of the Jews.
My vegetable love should grow
Vaster than empires, and more slow.
An hundred years should go to praise
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze.
Two hundred to adore each breast;
But thirty thousand to the rest.
An age at least to every part,
And the last age should show your heart.
For lady, you deserve this state;
Nor would I love at lower rate.
But at my back I always hear
Time's winged chariot hurrying near:
And yonder all before us lie
Deserts of vast eternity.
Thy beauty shall no more be found,
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
My echoing song; then worms shall try
That long preserv'd virginity:
And your quaint honour turn to dust,
And into ashes all my lust.
The grave's a fine and private place,
But none I think do there embrace.
Now therefore, while the youthful hue
Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
And while thy willing soul transpires
At every pore with instant fires,
Now let us sport us while we may;
And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
Rather at once our Time devour,
Than languish in his slow-chapt pow'r.
Let us roll all our strength, and all
Our sweetness, up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife,
Through the iron gates of life.
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still, yet we will make him run.
Marvell - To His Coy Mistress
Y
Never seek to tell thy love,
Love that never told can be;
For the gentle wind doth move
Silently, invisibly.
I told my love, I told my love,
I told her all my heart,
Trembling, cold, in ghastly fears.
Ah! She did depart!
Soon after she was gone from me,
A traveller came by,
Silently, invisibly:
He took her with a sigh.
William Blake
Y
I love you no matter what you do, but
do you have to do so much of it?
Jean Illsley Clarke - Self-Esteem: A Family Affair
Y
I loved you despite your betrayals, how
would I have felt had you been faithful?
Jean Racine - Andromache
Y
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false and true,
But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you
And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
W B Yeats - When You Are Old
