Love Quotes and poems

Part 03

27. I am far from solid core,

far from the plane ride to paradise,

far from the sodium dream,

but I am here

and here

I am looking around.

—From “Far and Here” by Allison Grayhurst

28. Without you I am incomplete, never have I missed someone so, my arms long to hold you tight, and I’ll never let you go. Your face, your lips, your soul, your heart, please promise me we’ll never again be apart. For without you, I am but a shell, you are my heaven and without you is hell.

— Anonymous

29. Your femininity attracts me;

Your steady strength supports me;

Your tenderness sustains me;

You’re the perfect love for me.

— Anonymous

30. My love is as a fever, longing still

For that which longer nurseth the disease,

Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill,

Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please.

My reason, the physician to my love,

Angry that his prescriptions are not kept,

Hath left me, and I desperate now approve

Desire is death, which physic did except.

Past cure I am, now reason is past care,

And frantic-mad with evermore unrest;

My thoughts and my discourse as madmen’s are,

At random from the truth vainly expressed:

For I have sworn thee fair, and thought thee bright,

Who art as black as hell, as dark as night.

— William Shakespeare

31. I promise to Love you through the good times and bad

I’ll Love you when I’m angry, hurt and mad

Love is a choice I’ve made to devote my life

To making you, my world, my wife

Nothing will ever change that choice that I’ve made

Even when we feel our Love start to fade

It’s inside my soul, and nothing can shake

My Love for you, that’s a promise I won’t break

— Sean Short

32. I’ll plant a row of daisy seeds,

In the space below each eye,

So they’ll remind you of your beauty,

When they bloom each time you cry.

— Anonymous

33. My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun;

Coral is far more red than her lips’ red;

If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;

If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,

But no such roses see I in her cheeks,

And in some perfumes is there more delight

Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know,

That music hath a far more pleasing sound.

I grant I never saw a goddess go;

My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare

As any she belied with false compare.

— William Shakespeare

34. I know a girl who is better than strawberry.

She is farther than the grand white Fujiyama.

She is purer than the water of the wholly Suraj Tal

From where the stream of Chandra flows down

The gorgeous heights of the Himalayas.

She is the spring of joy to me.

– Kabir Raichand

35. Her body is not so white as

anemone petals nor so smooth—nor

so remote a thing. It is a field

of the wild carrot taking

the field by force; the grass

does not raise above it.

Here is no question of whiteness,

white as can be, with a purple mole

at the center of each flower.

Each flower is a hand’s span

of her whiteness. Wherever

his hand has lain there is

a tiny purple blossom under his touch

to which the fibres of her being

stem one by one, each to its end,

until the whole field is a

white desire, empty, a single stem,

a cluster, flower by flower,

a pious wish to whiteness gone over—

or nothing.

— William Carlos Williams

36. I have been blessed, I live only for your happiness, for you my love, I will give you my last breath.

— Anonymous

37. She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that’s best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes;

Thus mellowed to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impaired the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o’er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express,

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

— Lord Byron

38. It’s all I have to bring today—

This, and my heart beside—

This, and my heart, and all the fields—

And all the meadows wide—

Be sure you count—should I forget

Some one the sum could tell—

This, and my heart, and all the Bees

Which in the Clover dwell.

— Emily Dickenson

39. Come to me in my dreams, and then

By day I shall be well again!

For so the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,

A messenger from radiant climes,

And smile on thy new world, and be

As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,

Come now, and let me dream it truth,

And part my hair, and kiss my brow,

And say, My love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then

By day I shall be well again!

For so the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.

— Matthew Arnold

40. The Nymph that undoes me, is fair and unkind;

No less than a wonder by Nature designed.

She’s the grief of my heart, the joy of my eye;

And the cause of a flame that never can die!

Her mouth, from whence wit still obligingly flows,

Has the beautiful blush, and the smell, of the rose.

Love and Destiny both attend on her will;

She wounds with a look; with a frown, she can kill!

The desperate Lover can hope no redress;

Where Beauty and Rigour are both in excess!

In Sylvia they meet; so unhappy am I!

Who sees her, must love; and who loves her, must die!

— George Etherege

41. Before I met you,

I felt that I couldn’t love anyone,

That nobody would be able to fill the void in my heart,

But that all changed when I met you.

Then I came to realize you were always on my mind.

You’re funny and sweet.

You make me laugh and smile.

You take away all my anger and sadness.

You make me weak when I talk to you.

Then I started to write poems about you.

Now I have come to realize that I am hopelessly in love with you.

— Keith Hank

42. When you come to me, unbidden,

Beckoning me

To long-ago rooms,

Where memories lie.

Offering me, as to a child, an attic,

Gatherings of days too few.

Baubles of stolen kisses.

Trinkets of borrowed loves.

Trunks of secret words,

I CRY.

— Maya Angelou

43. What do I see in you? Oh boy. Oh boy,

I see mountains and rivers a lifetime of joy,

I see the sun shining on the greyest day,

I see clouds of silver lining my way,

What do I see in you? Oceans of blue,

Colourful rainbows, morning dew,

Trees of glory displaying leaves of green,

I see goodness and beauty in all living things.

I hear creatures of darkness prowling the night,

But I’m safe in your arms as you hold me real tight,

I feel the whispers of the wind entwining my soul,

I feel you breathing, that makes me whole.

I hear the rain falling, and the sun on my face,

I feel the shadows of darkness as me you embrace,

I feel happiness and laughter tears and sorrow,

But without you my love there would be no tomorrow.

I feel thunder and lightning, whenever you’re near,

I feel whispers of love wind brings to my ear,

But of all of the things that nature may bring,

It’s your love I cherish above everything.

— Shelagh Bullman

44. When I feel the warmth in her heart

I know she is the one from whom I shall never depart

When I rest my head on her knees

I can weave a future of dreams

As my love, I silently profess

To my darling Princess.

— Anonymous

45. She had the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen

And it took only her laugh to realize

that beauty was the least of her.

— Atticus

46. One day I wrote her name upon the strand,

But came the waves and washed it away:

Again I wrote it with a second hand,

But came the tide, and made my pains his prey.

“Vain man,” said she, “that dost in vain assay,

A mortal thing so to immortalize;

For I myself shall like to this decay,

And eke my name be wiped out likewise.”

“Not so,” (quod I) “let baser things devise

To die in dust, but you shall live by fame:

My verse your vertues rare shall eternize,

And in the heavens write your glorious name:

Where whenas death shall all the world subdue,

Our love shall live, and later life renew.”

— Edmund Spenser

47. Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

—William Shakespeare

48. I don’t love you as if you were a rose of salt, topaz,

or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:

I love you as one loves certain obscure things,

secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom but carries

the light of those flowers, hidden, within itself,

and thanks to your love the tight aroma that arose

from the earth lives dimly in my body.I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,

I love you directly without problems or pride:

I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love,

except in this form in which I am not nor are you,

so close that your hand upon my chest is mine,

so close that your eyes close with my dreams

—Pablo Neruda

49. You will come one day in a waver of love,

Tender as dew, impetuous as rain,

The tan of the sun will be on your skin,

The purr of the breeze in your murmuring speech,

You will pose with a hill-flower grace.

You will come, with your slim, expressive arms,

A poise of the head no sculptor has caught

And nuances spoken with shoulder and neck,

Your face in pass-and-repass of moods

As many as skies in delicate change

Of cloud and blue and flimmering sun.

Yet,

You may not come, O girl of a dream,

We may but pass as the world goes by

And take from a look of eyes into eyes,

A film of hope and a memoried day.

— Carl Sandburg

50. For her this rhyme is penned, whose luminous eyes,

Brightly expressive as the twins of Loeda,

Shall find her own sweet name, that, nestling lies

Upon the page, enwrapped from every reader.

Search narrowly the lines!—they hold a treasure

Divine—a talisman—an amulet

That must be worn at heart. Search well the measure—

The words—the syllables! Do not forget

The trivialest point, or you may lose your labor!

And yet there is in this no Gordian knot

Which one might not undo without a sabre,

If one could merely comprehend the plot.

Enwritten upon the leaf where now are peering

Eyes scintillating soul, there lie perdus

Three eloquent words oft uttered in the hearing

Of poets, by poets—as the name is a poet’s, too.

Its letters, although naturally lying

Like the knight Pinto—Mendez Ferdinando—

Still form a synonym for Truth—Cease trying!

You will not read the riddle, though you do the best you can do.

— Edgar Allan Poe