Fever

Never know how much I love you,

Never know how much I care.

When you put your arms around me,

I get a Fever that's so hard to bear.

You give me fever

When you kiss me

Fever when you hold me tight.

Fever in the morning,

Fever all through the night.

Sun lights up the day-time,

Moon lights up the night.

I light up when you call my name,

And you know I'm gonna treat you right.

You give me fever

When you kiss me

Fever when you hold me tight.

Fever in the morning,

Fever all through the night.

Ev'rybody's got the Fever

That is something you all know

Fever isn't such a new thing

Fever started long ago.

Romeo loved Juliet

Juliet she felt the same.

When he put his arms around her, he said,

'Julie, baby you're my flame'.

Thou givest Fever, when we kisseth

Fever with thy flaming youth.

Fever - I'm afire

Fever, yea I burn forsooth.

Captain Smith and Pocahontas

Had a very mad affair

When her Daddy tried to kill him, she said,

'Daddy-o don't you dare'.

Give me Fever, with his kisses,

Fever when he holds me tight.

Fever - I'm his Missus

Oh Daddy won't you treat him right.

Now you've listened to my story

Here's the point that I have made.

Chicks were born to give you Fever

be it fahrenheit or centigrade.

They give you Fever when you kiss them

Fever if you live and learn.

Fever - till you sizzle

What a lovery way to burn.

JOHN DAVENPORT & EDDIE COOLEY

Magic

The Magic of first love is our ignorance that it can never end.

BENJAMIN DISRAELI (1804-81)

Looking for the Right One

(Recorded by Art Garfunkel 1975)

I've been so unlucky, I'm no good at playing games

I remember their faces; forget their names

Thought I'd found the right one, but she hasn't found me,

So I bundle up my emotions and start, 

Looking for the right one.

But will the right one ever come along?

Oh, I'm looking for the right one,

When will the right one come along?

They say there's no user runnin' after something you'll never get,

But my heart says, 'Don't say no'.

Somewhere in the lonesome city is the woman for me,

But would I wait another lifetime just to keep on

Looking for the right one

But will the right one ever come along?

Oh, I'm looking for the right one,

When will the right one come along?

They say love always come and goes,

Well, that I already know. Yes, I really know.

Looking for the right one

But will the right one ever come along?

Looking for the right one,

But will the right one come along?

STEPHEN BISHOP

Passing By

There is a Lady sweet and kind,

Was never face so pleased my mind;

I did but see her passing by,

And yet I love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles.

Her wit, her voice, my heart beguiles.

Beguiles my heart, I know not why,

And yet I love her till I die.

Cupid is winged and doth range,

Her country so my love doth change;

But chanve she earth, or change she sky,

Yet will I love her till I die.

Years Ago

It was what we did not do tha I remember,

Places with no markers left by us,

All of a summer, meeting every day, 

A memorable summer of hot days,

Day after day of them, evening after evening.

Sometimes we would laze

Upon the river-bank, just touching hands

Or stroking ne another's arms with grasses.

Swans floated by seeming to assert

Their dignity. But we too had our own

Decorum in the small-change of first love.

Nothing was elegiac or nostalgic,

We threw time in the river as we threw

Breadcrumbs to an inquisitive duck, and so 

Day entered evening with a sweeping gesture,

Idly we talked of fod and where to go.

This is the love that I knew long ago.

Before possession, passion, and betrayal.

ELIZABETH JENNINGS (1926-20011)

The Gateway

Every marriage, every love affair, and every unhappy passion begins with the first kiss. It is the gateway to passionate love or passionate hate, to heaven or hell. The first kiss has within it the possibilities of glorious consummation, the full flowering of a lifetime love, the bitterness of final betrayal or the despair of loss. 

The Wing of the Dove

When age chills the blood, when our 

    pleasures are past -

For years flee away with the wings

   of the dove - 

The dearest remembrance will still 

   be the last,

Our sweetest memorial the first kiss of 

   of love.

LORD BYRON (1788-1824)

Upon Julia's Clothes

When as in silks my Julia goes, 

Then, then (methinks) how sweetly flows

That liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes and see

That brave vibration each way free;

O how that glittering taketh me!!!

ROBERT HERRICK ( 1591-1674)

First Love

I ne'er was struck before that hour

With love so sudden and so sweet,

Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower

And stole my heart away complete.

My face turned pale as deadly pale, 

My legs refused to walk away,

And when she looked, what could I ail?

My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face

And took my eyesight quite away,

The trees and bushes round the place

Seemed midnight at noonday.

I could not see a single thing, 

Words from my eyes did start -

They spoke as chords do from the string,

And blood burnt round my heart.

Are flowers the winter's choice?

Is love's bed always snow?

She seemed to hear my silent voice,

Not love's appeals to know.

I never saw so sweet a face

As that I stood before.

My heart has left its dwelling-place

And can return no more.

JOHN CLARE (1793-1864)

Love: Beginnings

They're at that stage where so much desire streams
between them, so much frank need and want,
so much absorption in the other and the self and the self-
admiring entity and unity they make -
her mouth so full, breast so lifted, head thrown back so
far in her laughter at his laughter,
he so solid, planted, okay, firm, so resonantly factual in
the headlines of being craved so,
she almost wreathed upon him as they intertwine again,
touch again, cheek, lip, shoulder, brow,
every glance moving toward the sexual, every glance
away soaring back in flame into the sexual -
that just to watch them is to feel again that hitching in
the groin, that filling of the heart,
the old, sore heart, the battered, foundered, faithful heart,
snorting again, stamping in its stall.

C.K.WILLIAMS (1936 - )

Sunday

The mint bed is in

bloom: lavender haze

day. The grass is

more than green and 

throws up sharp and 

cutting lights to

slice through the

plane tree leaves. And

on the cloudless blue

I scribble your name.

JAMES SCTHUYLER (1923-91)

from Middlemarch

When Mrs Casaubon was announced he started up as from an electrick shock, and felt a tingling at his finger-ends. Any one observing him would have seen a change in his complexion, in the adjustment of his facial muscles, in the vividness of his glance, which might have made them imagine that every molecule in his body had passed the message of a magic touch. And so it had. For effective magic is transcendent nature; and who shall measure the subtlety of those touches which convery the quality of soul as well as body, and make a man's passion for one women differ from is passion for another as joy in the morning light over valley and river and white mountain-top differes from joy among Chinese lanterns and glass panels?

GEORGE ELIOT (1819-90)

Like a Flame

Raising up

from my wedding

of ripening cane

my eyes 

make four

with this man

there ain't

no reason

to laugh

but 

I laughing

in confusion

his hands

soft his words

quick his lips

curling as in

prayer

I nod

I like this man

Tonight

I go to meet him

like a flame

- GRACE NICHOLS (1950 - )

Conviction

I like to get off with people,

I like to lie in their arms,

I like to be held and tightly kissed,

Safe from all alarms.

I like to laugh and be happy

With a beautiful beautiful kiss,

I tell you, in all the world

There is no bliss like this.

STEVE SMITH (1902-71)

The First Day

I Wish I could remember the first day,

First hour, first moment of your meeting me;

If bright or dim the season, it might be 

Summer or winter for aught I can say.

So unrecorded did it slip away,

So blind was I to see and to foresee,

So dull to mark the budding of my tree,

That would not blossom yet for many a May.

If only I could recollect it! Such

A Day or days! I let if come and go

As traceless to mean so little, meant so much!

If only now I could recall that touch,

First touch of hand in hand! Did one but know!

-CHRISTINA ROSSETTI (1830-94)