Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die
In wise love each defines the secret self of the other, and refusing to believe in the mere daily self, creates a mirror where the lover or the beloved sees an image to copy in daily life; for love also creates the Mask.
The hour of the waning of love has beset us,And weary and worn are our sad souls now;Let us part, ere the season of passion forget us,With a kiss and a tear on thy drooping brow.
Many ingenious lovely things are gone / That seemed sheer miracle to the multitude...
Man is in love and loves what vanishes, What more is there to say?
I dreamed that I stood in a valley, and amid sighs, For happy lovers passed two by two where I stood; And I dreamed my lost love came stealthily out of the wood With her cloud-pale eyelids falling on dream-dimmed eyes....
What can be shown? What true love be? All could be known or shown If Time were but gone.
Hearts are not had as a gift, But hearts are earned...
Everything that's lovely is But a brief, dreamy kind of delight.
All through the years of our youth Neither could have known Their own thought from the other's, We were so much at one.
Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That's all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die.
But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
One had a lovely face, And two or three had charm, But charm and face were in vain. Because the mountain grass Cannot keep the form Where the mountain hare has lain.
Only God, my dear,Could love you for yourself aloneAnd not your yellow hair.
O love is the crooked thing,There is nobody wise enoughTo find out all that is in it.
for never yet Has lover lived, but longed to wive Like them that are no more alive.
O would, beloved, that you lay Under the dock-leaves in the ground, While lights were paling one by one.
I know, although when looks meet I tremble to the bone, The more I leave the door unlatched The sooner love is gone....
Never shall a young man, Thrown into despair By those great honey-coloured Ramparts at your ear, Love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
Being young you have not known The fool's triumph, nor yet Love lost as soon as won, Nor the best labourer dead And all the sheaves to bind.
It seems to me that true love is a discipline...
A pity beyond all telling is hid in the heart of love.
Love is created and preserved by intellectual analysis, for we love only that which is unique, and it belongs to contemplation, not to action, for we would not change that which we love.
While they danced they came over them the weariness with the world, the melancholy, the pity one for the other, which is the exultation of love.
Love is based on inequality as friendship is on equality.
Who mocks at music mocks at love.
Although our love is waning, let us stand by the lone border of the lake once more, together in that hour of gentleness. When the poor tired child, passion, falls asleep.
It seems to me that love, if fine, is essentially a discipline.
I have nothing more to give you than my heart. Spanish saying Hearts are not to be had as a gift hearts are to be earned...
Players and painted stage took all my love, And not those things that they were emblems of.
And many a poor man that has roved Loved and thought himself beloved From a glad kindness cannot take his eyes.
Only God, my dear, Could love you for yourself alone And not your yellow hair.
Nothing that we love overmuch Is ponderable to our touch.
Everything that man esteems Endures a moment or a day. Love's pleasure drives his love away, The painter's brush consumes his dreams.
...How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face... "When You Are Old And Gray
A woman can be proud and stiffWhen on love intent;But Love has pitched his mansion inThe place of excrement;For nothing can be sole or wholeThat has not been rent.
One man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face.
One had a lovely face, and two or three had charm, but charm and face were in vain. Because the mountain grass cannot keep the form where the mountain hare has lain.
A mermaid found a swimming lad,Picked him for her own,Pressed her body to his body,Laughed; and plunging downForgot in cruel happinessThat even lovers drown.
A mermaid found a swimming lad, Picked him for her own, Pressed her body to his body, Laughed; and plunging down Forgot in cruel happiness That even lovers drown.
Until the axle break That keeps the stars in their round, And hands hurl in the deep The banners of East and West, And the girdle of light is unbound, Your breast will not lie by the breast Of your beloved in sleep
She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree.
True love is a discipline in which each divines the secret self of the other and refuses to believe in the mere daily self.
We had fed the heart on fantasies, The heart's grown brutal from the fare, More substance in our enmities Than in our love
One should say before sleeping: I have lived many lives. I have been a slave and a prince. Many a beloved has sat upon my knee and I have sat upon the knees of many a beloved. Everything that has been shall be again.
It is love that I am seeking for, But of a beautiful, unheard-of kind That is not in the world.