TRUST thou thy Love: if she be proud, is she not sweet?
Trust thou thy Love: if she be mute, is she not pure?
Lay thou thy soul full in her hands, low at her feet;
Fail, Sun and Breath!--yet, for thy peace, She shall endure.
I am thy grass, O Lord!
I grow up sweet and tall
But for a day; beneath Thy sword
To lie at evenfall.
Yet have I not enough
In that brief day of mine?
The wind, the bees, the wholesome stuff
The sun pours out like wine.
Behold, this is my crown;
Love will not let me be;
Love holds me here; Love cuts me down;
And it is well with me.
Lord, Love, keep it but so;
Thy purpose is full plain;
I die that after I may grow
As tall, as sweet again.
True tenderness is silent
and can't be mistaken for anything else.
In vain with earnest desire
you cover my shoulders with fur;
In vain you try to persuade me
of the merits of first love.
But I know too well the meaning
of your persistent burning glances.
NONE could ever say that she,
Lesbia! was so loved by me.
Never all the world around
Faith so true as mind was found.
If no longer it endures
(Would it did!) the fault is yours.
I can never think again
Well of you: I try in vain.
But . . . be false . . . do what you will-
Lesbia! I must love you still.
It is the very tune of hearts, and rhythms
To all occasions truly musical.
He sticks as fast to her each whim as does
The scarabaeus to its curious ball,
As if life's very destiny were in it;
And as the thing would rather die than part
With what occasions her so much turmoil,
I swear by what I now of true love know,
He'd dare even death rather than banished be
From her who has become a part of him.
True love cannot be stopped
At best be delayed
But like it or not
True love always settled down in the public domain
True love cannot be stopped
Even if one is already committed somewhere else
Or the other one is a peaceful person
Or someone who always backs off in front of problems
True love cannot just be stopped
But also cannot be understood
How can someone be at a specific church
And see someone who still don’t believe in fate
Well… That is love
Well… That is real love
The handsome and self-absorbed young man
looked at the lovely and self-absorbed girl
and thrilled.
The lovely and self-absorbed girl
looked back at the handsome and self-absorbed young man
and thrilled.
And in that thrill he felt:
Her self-absorption is even as strong as mine.
I must see if I can't break through it
And absorb her in me.
And in that thrill she felt:
His self-absorption is even stronger than mine!
What fun, stronger than mine!
OVER the meadow and down the lane
To the gate by the twisted thorn:
Your feet should know each turn of the way
You trod so many many a day,
Before the old love was put out of its pain,
Before the new love was born.
Kiss her, hold her and fold her close,
Tell her the old true tale:
You ought to know each turn of the phrase,--
You learned them all in the poor old days
Before the birth of the new red rose,
Before the old rose grew pale.
And do not fear I shall creep to-night
True love. Is it normal
is it serious, is it practical?
What does the world get from two people
who exist in a world of their own?
Placed on the same pedestal for no good reason,
drawn randomly from millions but convinced
it had to happen this way – in reward for what?
For nothing.
The light descends from nowhere.
Why on these two and not on others?
Doesn’t this outrage justice? Yes it does.
Doesn’t it disrupt our painstakingly erected principles,
Farewell, Earl Richard,
Tender and brave;
Kneeling I kiss
The dust from thy grave.
Pray for me, Richard,
Lying alone
With hands pleading earnestly,
All in white stone.
Soon must I leave thee
This sweet summer tide;
That other is waiting
To claim his pale bride.
Soon I’ll return to thee
Hopeful and brave,
When the dead leaves
Blow over thy grave.
Then shall they find me
Close at thy head
Watching or fainting,
Sleeping or dead.
