When fist I chanced

when first I chanced to hear your voice

my heart stopped.

not for want of death, but because

nothing can change

in the space between beats of your heart.

and I wanted you

to forever speak my name. with reverence

and honest love.

when first I chanced to look into your eyes

burnt gold honey

in colour. my breath caught, the air

was no longer needed

to sustain my life. for in your eyes

my world held, strung

on wires of platinum and steel and dreams.

and honest love.

when first I chanced to touch your flesh

my life ended.

and began again. the minuet of life paused

and then continued.

and I was caught in the dance, intoxicated

by your warm hand

by the sweet message in your smile, bold

with honest love.

when first I chanced to lay with you

the angels wept.

knowing what was in my heart, how could

they but regret

never knowing what passes between two lovers

caught in the sphere

where ends all reality and the truth is pure as any scarament.

when first I chanced to speak of love

you smiled at me.

and touched me with a hand that stole

my life. and spoke

with a voice that stopped my heart.

and looked to me

with eyes that caught my breath. and I kenw.

I knew. I know.

The Heat of My Desire

In the still of the evening
Without sunlight to intrude
I see the twilight's in your eyes
As the moon sets up the mood

Playing music soft and low
While romance fills the air
I can't help but feel aroused
The very moment you come near

You submit to my embrace
While candles flick their flame
And the smell of sweet perfume
Seems to drive my lust insane

As I look into your eyes
And run my fingers through your hair
I taste the sweetness of your neck
As I nibble at your ear

I then whisper words of love
As you answer with a sigh
And in a very sexy way
Your sweet body comes alive

Your the heat of my desire
As we slowly come undress
I then start to lay you down
While you welcome my caress

With your luscious sexy curves
You have a taste I can't resist
And your breast show some response
When I touch them with a kiss

As I soak inside your love
To a sexy love condition
Feeling passions start to rise
While making love in all positions

You give me so much pleasure
For ecstasy is here
With you wrapped inside my arms
To this heated love we share

Now no one can come close
To this love that we inspire
For only you can fill this joy
And the heat of my desire

David Farrar

Before you go

I hope I die before you go.

for I am not ready for a life without your presence.

God is not so cruel, surely He

must plan me a swift and sudden death, remembrance

of what we have held and been would

be beyound the endurance of Job and more horrific

than any mere crucifixion.

I hope I die before you go. just don't look back.

William F. DeVault

Transfiguration

in the wasteland of our lives, there are vines

that wind us with their silvery stems, binding

us to the truths and lies we have uttered and heard.

taking our dring at the well of folly and in the cup

of both Holy Communion and poisoned dreas. drink

deeply the blood of my heart, freely and of your will,

take your fill and I, I shall be transformed by this.

brought from wretched wreck to mortal, then

transfigured in a moment of awakened passion

to immortal. and thus I may join in the stars.

William F. DeVault

Heartbeat

I listen to your heart.

beating softly in your breast.

my eyes are closed and I am lulled

by the knowledge that you live

and love for me. the thinnest part

of this is that to any test

I may put our love, this fading world

is witness to our victory in the love we give.

William F. DeVault

inamorata

how beautiful you are to me is not a question

I may answer, words fail and you are bright

and incandescent, a flaming taper in oblivion.

I draw my inspiration from your love, shadow

of your lilght, memory of your words, priets

to the need to worship one who stirs such awe

in my all too mortal soul. seeds of doubt? I

have none. and when the seeds of this love

are manifest, I will be there to witness them.

Playing the Gallant

when you are sad. think of me.

and know that I would make you smile.

at any cost. for, when i see

someone too worthy for despair to defile,

I must play the gallant, riding hight

to slay the dark demons that would caress

only your sorrow. for selfish am I.

and want all of you, even your darkness.

French actress Sarah Bernhardt to Writer Jean Richepin

Carry me off into the blue skies of tender loves, roll me in dark clouds, tramp me with your thunderstorms, break me in your angry rages. But love me, my adored love.

1883

Somewhere I have never travelled gladly beyond

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond

any experience, your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish to be close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descendings

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility: whose texture

compels me with the colour of its countries,

rendering death and forver with each breathing.

E.E.Cummings

To Diana Manners, 1918

Darling, my darling - One line in haste to tell you that I love you more today than ever in my life before, that I never see beauty without seeing you or scent happiness without thinking of you.

You have fulfilled all my ambition, realized all my hopes, made all my dreams come true. You have set a crown ro roses on my youth and fortified me against the disaster of our days. Your courageous gaiety has inspired me with joy. You tender faithfulness has been a rock of security and comfort. I have felt for you all kinds of love at once. I have asked much of you and you have never failed me. You have intensified all colours, heightened all beauty, deepened all delight. I love you more than life, my beauty, my wonder.

DUFF COOPER (1890-1954)

from the film When Harry Met Sally, 1989

BILLY CRYSTAL TO MEG RYAN

I love that you get cold when it is 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle in your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothers. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I got to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

NORA EPHRON (1941 - )

The Confirmation

Yes, yours, my love, is the right human face.

I in my mind had waited for this long,

Seeing the false and searching for the ture,

Then found you as a traveller finds a place

Of welcome suddenly amid the wrong

Valleys and rocks and twisting roads. But you,

What shall I call you? A fountain in a waste,

A well of water in a country dry,

Or anything that's honest and good, an eye

That makes the whole world bright. YOur open heart,

Simple with giving, gives the primal deed,

The first good world, the blossom, the blowing seed,

The hearth, the steadfast land, the wandering sea.

Not beautiful or rare in every part.

But like yourself, as they were meant to be.

EDWIN MUIR (1887-1959)

SONNET LXIX

May be nothingness is to be without your presence,

without you moving, slicing the noon

like a blue flower, without you walking

later through the fog and the cobbles,

without the light you carry in your hand,

golden, which maybe others will not see,

which maybe no one knew was growing

like the red beginning of a rose.

In short, without your presence: without your coming

suddenly, incitingly, to know my life,

gust of a rosebush, wheat of wind:

since then I am because you are,

since then you are, I am, we are,

and through love I will be, you will be, we'll be.

PABLO NERUDA (1904-73)

THE SNOWDROP

How beautiful the snowdrop shines

In purest white arrayed;

Just as when innocence combines

To from the virtuous maid.

Fair emblem of meek innocence

Sweet modest flower with thee,

My Chloe's matchless excellence

Exactly does agree.

And O how charming is her face

Just like the snowdrop flower,

It gives to every downcast grace

In love, a double power.

Though every way she darts her eye

Does kindling flames inspire,

But when here downcast glances flye

They set my soul on fire.

'Loving in Truth, and Fain in Verse My Love to Show'

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,

That the dear she might take some pleasure of my pain,

Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,

Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain,

I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe:

Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,

Oft turning others's leaves, to see if thence would flow

Some fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburned brain.

But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;

Inventions, Nature's child, fled stepdame Study's blows;

And other's feet still seemed but strangers in my ways.

Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,

Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite:

'Fool,' said my Muse to me, 'look in thy heart, and write'.

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY (1554-1586)

To John Middleton Murry, 1917

Last night, before you got into bed, you stood, quite naked, bending forward a little, talking. It was only for an instant. I swa you - I loved youso, loved your body with such tenderness. Ah, my dear! And I am noth thinking now of 'passion'. No, of that other thing that makes me feel that every inch of you is so precious to me - your soft shoulders - your creamy warm skin, your ears cold like shells are cold - you long legs and your feed that I love to clasp with my feet - the feeling of your belly - and your thin young back. Just below that bone that sticks out at the back of your neck you have a little mole. It is partly because we are young tat I feel this tenderness. I love your youth. I could not bear that it should be touched even by a cold wind if I were the Lord.

We two, you know, have everything before us, and we shall do very great things, I have prefect faith in us, and so perfect is my love for your that I am, as itwere, still, silent to my very soul. I want nobody but you for my lover and my friend and to nobody but you shall I be faithful.

I am yours for ever

Tig

KATHERINE MANSFIELD (1888-1923)

Intimacy

Since I have seen you do those intimate things

that other men but dream of; lull asleep

the sinster dark forest of your hair

and tie the bows that stir on your calm breat

faintly as leaves that shudder in their sleep;

since I have seen you stocking swallow up,

a switft black wind, the flame of your pale foot,

and deemed your slender limbs so meshed in slik

sweet mermaid sisters drowned in their dark hari;

I have not troubled overmuch with food,

and wine has seemed like water from a well;

pavements are built of fire, grass of thin flames;

all other girls grow dull as painted flowers

or flutter harmlessly like coloured flies

whose wings are tangled in the net of leaves

spread by frail trees that grow behind the eyes.

EDGELL RICWORD (1898-1982)

A Dedication to My Wife

To whom I owe the leaping delight

That quickness my senses in our wakingtime

And the rhythm that governs the repose of our sleepingtime,

The breathing in unison.

Of lovers whose bodies smell of each other

Who think the same thoughts without need of speech,

And babble the same speech without need of meaning.

No peevish winter wind shall chill

No sullen tropic sun shall wither

The roses in the rose-garden which is ours and ours only

But this dedication is for others to read:

These are private words addressed to you in public.

T.S.ELIOT (1888-1965)

In Paris with You

Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful

And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.

I'm one of your talking wounded.

I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.

I'm in Paris with you.

Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled

And resentful at the mess that I've been through.

I admit I'm on the rebound

And I don't care where are we bound.

I'm in Paris with you.

Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre,

If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,

If we skip the Champs Elysees

And remain here in this sleazy

Old hotel room

Doing this and that

To what and whom

Learning who you are,

Learning what I am.

Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,

The little bit of Paris in our view.

There's that crack across the ceiling

And the hotel walls are peeling

And I'm in Paris with you.

JAMES FENTON (1949 - )

To F.Scott Fitzgerald, 1919

I'D DO ANYTHING

Sweetheart,

Please, please do't be so depressed - We'll be married soon, and there lonesome nights will be over forever - and until we are, I am loving, loving every tiny minute of the day and night - Maybe you won't understand this, but sometimes when I miss you most, it's hardest to write - an you always know when I make myself - Just the ache of it all - and I can't tell you. If we were together, you'd feel how strong it is - your're so sweet when you're melancholy. I love your sad tenderness - when I've hurt your - That's one of the reasons I could never be sorry for our quarrels - and they bothered you so - Those dear, dear little fusses, when I always tried so hard to make you kiss and forget -

Scott - there's nothing in all the world I want but you - and your precious love - All the material things are nothing. I'd just haste to live a sordbid, colorless existence - because your'd soon love me less - and less - and I'd do anything - anything - to keep your heart for my own - I don't want to live - I want to love first, and live incidentally - Why don't you feel that I'm waiting - I'll come to your, Lover, when you're ready - Don't ever think of the things you can't give me - you've trusted me with the desert heart of all - and it's so damn much more than anybody else in the world has ever had -

ZELDA FITZGERALD (1900-47)

Variation on the Word Sleep

I would like to watch you sleeping.

I would like to watch you,

sleeping. I would like to sleep

with you, to enter

your sleep as it smooth dark wave

slides over my head

and walk with you through that lucent

wavering forest of bluegreen leaves

with its watery sun & three moons

towards the cave where you must descend,

towards your worst fear

I would like to give you the silver

branch, the small white flower, the one

word that will protect you

from the grief at the center

of your dream, from the grief

at the centre. I would like to floow

you up the long stairway

again & become

the boat that would row you back

carefully, a flame

in two cupped hands

to where your body lies

beside me, and you enter

it as easily as breathing in

I would like to be in the air

that inhabits you for a moment

only. I would like to be that unnoticed & that necessary.

MARGARET ATWOOD (1939 - )

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,

or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.

I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,

in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms

but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;

thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,

risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.

I love your straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;

so I love you because I know no other way

than this; where I does not exist, nor you,

so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,

so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

PABLO NERUDA (1904-73)

Crowning Grace

Love is the crowning grace of humanity, the holiest right of the soul, ghe golden link which binds us to duty and truth, the redeeming pinciple that chiefly reconciles the heart to life, and is prophetic of eternal good.

FRANCESCO PETRARCH (1304-74)

from The Four Loves

To love at all is to e vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping in intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of you selfishness. But in that casket - safe, dark, motionless, airless - it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.

C.S.LEWIS (1898-1963)

from Love

CRYSTALLISATION: THE BIRTH OF LOVE

Here is what happens to the soul:

1. Admiration

2. The lover say to himself: 'What joy to kiss her, to be kissed by her', so on.

3. Hope. You study her perfections....

4. Love is born. To love is to enjoy seeing, touching, sensing with all the senses, and being as close as possible to the object of love who love is return.

5. The first crystallisation begins. The lover who is sure of his mistress's love delights in attributing to her every possible excellence. In the end you exaggerate her qualities wildly, and see her as someone fallen from Heaven, still unknown, but certain to be yours.

If a lover's brain is left undisturbed for four and twenty hours, the result is the 'crystallisation' of the object of his thoughts:

A branch of a tree, plucked in winter, that has been stripped of its leaves and thrown deep down into one of the salt mines of Salzburg, is found, on its being taken out two or three months later, to be covered with brilliant crystals, and garnished, even to the very smallest twigs, which are often no bigger than a titmouse's foot, with innumerable sparkling diamonds; the original branch can no longer be seen.

What I have called crystallisation is that operation of the mind which turns whatever peresents itself into a discovery of new perfections in the object of love.

STENDHAL (1783-1842)

True Love

But true love is a durable fire

In the wind ever burning;

Never sick, never old, never dead,

From itself never turning.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH (c. 1554-1618)

from A Natural History of Love

AN ANCIENT DELIRIUM

Love. What a small word we use for an idea so immense and powerful it has altered the flow of history, clamed monsters, kindled works of art, cheered the forlorn, turned tought guys to mush, consoled the enslaved, driven strong women mad, glorified the humble, fueled national scandals, bankrupted robber barons, and made mincemeat of kings. How can love's spaciousness be conveyed in the narrow confines of one syllable?....Love is an ancient delirium, a deisre older than civilization, with taproots stretching deep into dark and mysterious days...

The heart is a living museum. In each of its galleries, no matter how narrow or dimly lit, preserved forever like wondrous diatoms, are our moments of loving and being loved.

DIANE ACKERMAN (1948 -)

from Unending Love

I seem to have loved you in numberless forms, numberless times,

In life after life, in age after age forever.

My spell-bound heart has made and re-made the necklace of songs

That you take as a gift, wear round your neck in your many forms

I life after life, in age after age forever.

Whenever I hear old chronicles of love, its age-old pain,

Its ancient tale of being aprt or together,

As I stare on and on into the past, in the end you emerge

Clad in the light of a pole-star piercing the darkness of time:

You become an image of what is remembered forever.......

RABINDRANATH TAGORE (1861-1941)

from The Prophet

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let

these be your desires;

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its

melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give

thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in

your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

KHALIL GIBRAN (1883-1931)

In a Bath Teashop

'Lets us not speak, for the love we bear one another

Let us hold hands and look.'

She, such a very ordinary little woman;

He, such a thumping crook;

But both, for a moment, little lower than the angels

In the teashop's ingle-nook.

JOHN BETJEMAN (1906-84)

The Power of Love

It can alter things:

The stormy scowl can become

Suddenly a smile.

The knuckly bunched fist

May open like a flower,

Tender a caress.

Benarth its bright warmth

Black ice of suspicion melts;

Danger is dazzled.

A plain a dull face

Astounds with its radiance

And sudden beauty.

Ordinary things -

Teacups, spoons and sugar-lumps -

Become magical.

The locked door opens;

Inside are leaves and moonlight;

You are welcomed in.

Its delicate strength

Can lift the heaviest heart

And snap hostile steel.

It gives eloquence

To the dumb tongue, makes plain speech

Blaze like poetry.

VERNON SCANNELL (1922 -)

from The Symposium

THE DESIRE AND PURSUIT

So ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, seeking to make one of two and to heal the state of man. Each of us when separated, having one side only, like a flat fish, is but the tally-half of a man, and he is always looking for his other half.....There is not a man...who would not acknowledge that this meeting and melting into one another, this becoming one instead of two, was the very expression of his ancient need. And the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called Love.

PLATO (c 429-347 BC)

from Among the Multitude

Among the men and women the multitude,

I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs

Acknowledging none elsse, not parent, wife,

husband, brother, chidl, any nearer than I am

Some are baffled, but that one is not -

that one knows me.

WALT WHITMAN (1819-92)

Some say that Love's a little boy

Some say that love's a little boy,

And some say it's a bird,

Some say it makes the world go round,

And some say that's absurd.

And when I asked the man next-door,

Who looked as if he knew,

His wife got very cross indeed,

And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,

Or the ham in a tempreance hotel?

Does it odour remind one of Ilamas,

Or has it a comforting smell?

Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,

Or soft as eiderdown fluff?

Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?

O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it

In cryptic little notes,

Its' guite a common topic on

The Transatlantic boats;

I've found the subject mentioned in

Accounts of suicides,

And even seen it scribbled on

The backs of railway-guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,

Or boom like a military band?

Could one give a first-rate imitation

On a swa or a Steinway Grand?

Is its singing at parties a riot?

Does it only like Classical stuff?

Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?

O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;

It wasn't ever there:

I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,

And Brighton's bracing air.

I don't know what the blackbird sang,

But it wasn't in the chicken-run,

Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?

Is it usually sick on a swing?

Does it spend all its time at the races,

Or fiddling with pieces of string?

Has it views of its own about money?

Does it think Patriotism enought?

Are its stories vulgar but funny?

O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning.

Just a I'm picking my nose?

Will it knock on my door in the mroning,

Or tread in the bust on my toes?

Will it come like a change in the weather?

Will its greeting be courteous or rought?

Will it alter my life altogether?

O tell me the truth about love.

W.H.AUDEN (1907-73)

from Romeo and Juliet

ACT I, SCENE I

Love is smoke roused with the fume of sights;

Being purged, a fire sparkling in lover's eyes;

Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears;

What is it else? A madness most discreet,

a choking gall, and a preserving sweet.

WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE (1564-1616)

Love Like You've Never Been Hurt

As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed ever to let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pitures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt....Don't be afraid that your life will end, be afraid that it will never begin.

Under the Influence

When two people are under the influence of the most violent, most insane, most delusive, and most transient of passion, they are required to swear that they will remain in that excited, abnormal, and exhausting condition continuously until death do them part.

GEROGE BERNARD SHAW (1856-1950)

To Love is to Suffer

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore, to love is to suffer; not to love is to suffer; to suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy, then, is to suffer, but suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be happy one must love or love to suffer or suffer from too much happiness.

WOODY ALEN (1935 - )

'As Ye Came from the Holy Land'

'As ye came from the holy land

of Walsinghame,

Met you not with my true love

By the way as you came?'

'How should I know your true love,

That have met many a one

As I came from the holy land,

That have come, that have gone?'

'She is neither white nor brown,

But as the heavens fair;

There is none hath her form divine

In the earth or the air.'

'Such a one did I meet, good sir,

Such an angelic face,

Who like a nymph, like a queen, did appear

In her gait, in her grace.'

'She hath left me here alone,

All alone, as unknown,

Who sometime did me lead with herself,

And me loved as her own.'

'What's the cause that she leaves you alone

And a new way doth take,

That sometime did love you as her own,

And her joy did you make?'

'I have loved her all my youth,

But now am old, as you see:

Love likes not the falling fruit,

Nor the withered tree.

'Know that Love is careless child,

And forgets promise past;

He is bilnd, he is deaf when he list,

And in faith never fast.

'His desire is a dureless content,

And a trustless joy;

He is won with a world of despair,

And is lost with a toy.

'Of womenkind such indeed is the love,

Or the word love abused,

Under which many childish desires

And conceits are excused.

'But true love is a durable fire,

In the mind ever burning,

Never sick, never dead, never cold,

From itself never turning.'

SIR WALTER RALEIGH (1552-1618)

The True Meaning of Love - A Heart Touching Story

My husband is an Engineer by profession, I love him for his steady nature, and I love the warm feeling when I lean against his broad shoulders. Three years of courtship and now, two years into marriage, I would have to admit, that I am getting tired of it. The reasons of me loving him before, has now transformed into the cause of all my restlessness. . . I am a sentimental woman and extremely sensitive when it comes to a relationship and my feelings, I yearn for the romantic moments, like a little girl yearning for candy. My husband, is my complete opposite, his lack of sensitivity, and the inability of bringing romantic moments into our marriage has disheartened me about love. One day, I finally decided to tell him my decision, that I wanted a divorce.

"Why?" he asked, shocked. "I am tired, there are no reasons for everything in the world!" I answered. He kept silent the whole night, seems to be in deep thought with a lighted cigarette at all times My feeling of disappointment only increased, here was a man who can't even express his predicament, what else can I hope from him? And finally he asked me:" What can I do to change your mind?" Somebody said it right, it's hard to change a person's personality, and I guess, I have started losing faith in him. Looking deep into his eyes I slowly answered : "Here is the question, if you can answer and convince my heart, I will change my mind, Let's say, I want a flower located on the face of a mountain cliff, and we both are sure that picking the flower will cause your death, will you do it for me?" He said :" I will give you your answer tomorrow.... " My hopes just sank by listening to his response.

I woke up the next morning to find him gone, and saw a piece of paper with his scratchy handwriting, underneath a milk glass, on the dining table near the front door, that goes....
My dear, "I would not pick that flower for you, but please allow me to explain the reasons further.." This first line was already breaking my heart. I continued reading. "When you use the computer you always mess up the Software programs, and you cry in front of the screen, I have to save my fingers so that I can help to restore the programs.

You always leave the house keys behind, thus I have to save my legs to rush home to open the door for you. You love traveling but always lose your way in a new city, I have to save my eyes to show you the way.

You always have the cramps whenever your "good friend" approaches every month, I have to save my palms so that I can calm the cramps in your tummy. You like to stay indoors, and I worry that you will be infected by infantile autism. I have to save my mouth to tell you jokes and stories to cure your boredom.

You always stare at the computer, and that will do nothing good for your eyes, I have to save my eyes so that when we grow old, I can help to clip your nails,and help to remove those annoying white hairs. So I can also hold your hand while strolling down the beach, as you enjoy the sunshine and the beautiful sand... and tell you the colour of flowers, just like the color of the glow on your young face...

Thus, my dear, unless I am sure that there is someone who loves you more than I do... I could not pick that flower yet, and die.. " My tears fell on the letter, and blurred the ink of his handwriting. .... and as I continue on reading...

"Now, that you have finished reading my answer, if you are satisfied, please open the front door for I am standing outside bringing your favorite bread and fresh milk...
I rush to pull open the door, and saw his anxious face, clutching tightly with his hands, the milk bottle and loaf of bread...... Now I am very sure that no one will ever love me as much as he does, and I have decided to leave the flower alone...

That's life, and love. When one is surrounded by love, the feeling of excitement fades away, and one tends to ignore the true love that lies in between the peace and dullness.

Love shows up in all forms, even very small and cheeky forms, it has never been a model, it could be the most dull and boring form.. . flowers, and romantic moments are only used and appear on the surface of the relationship. Under all this, the pillar of true love stands... and that's our life... Love, not words win arguments...

The Appeal

An Earnest Suit to His Unkind Mistress,

Not to Forsake Him

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay, say nay, for shame!

- To save thee from the blame

Of all my grief and grame.

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,

That hath loved thee so long

I n wealth and woe among?

And is thy heart so strong

As for to leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,

That hath given thee my heart

Never for to depart

Neither for pain nor smart:

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! say nay!

And wilt thou leave me thus,

And have no more pity

Of him that loveth thee?

Alas, thy cruelty!

And wilt thou leave me thus?

Say nay! Say nay!

The Lover Showeth How He Is Forsaken of Such as He Sometime Enjoyed

They flee from me that sometime did me seek,

With naked foot stalking in my chamber.

I have seen them gentle, tame, and meek,

That now are wild, and do not once remember

That sometime they have put themselves in danger

To take bread at my hand; and now they range,

Busily seeking with a continual change.

Thanked be fortune, it hath been otherwise

Twenty times better; but once, in special,

In thin array, after a pleasant guise,

When her loose gown from her shoulders did fall,

And she me caught in her arms long and small,

Therewith all sweetly did me kiss,

And softly said, 'Dear heart, how like you this?'

It was no dream; I lay broad waking:

But all is turned, through my gentleness,

Into a strange fashion of forsaking;

And I have leave to go, of her goodness;

And she also to use new-fangleness.

But since that I so unkindly am served,

I fain would know what she hath deserved.

SIR THOMAS WYATT (1503-1542)

DAYS OF MY YOUTH

Days of my youth! and where are ye gone?

Those sweet hours of pastime to me;

When nature, all round, like May's mild morn,

Made me bless'd as well I could be.

The joy I had in my youth, has fled,

And moments of innocent glee,

How little I thought of them till sped!

And they all had vanished from me.

O! could they once more to me return,

And I live them all o'er again,

How quick from myself I those should spurn,

That bring me no pleasure, but pain.

But now it seems I must sit and sigh,

For those Heavenly hours that are gone;

While the tears stand trembling in my eye,

When I think of those days to come.

Hopes of my youth as the sunbeams bright,

How quick have ye vanish'd away!

The prospects before are as dark as night,

And I tremble, as well I may.

My fears in youth, how quickly they fled!

My hopes were so buoyant and bright;

On the path before me, soon was shed,

Some gleam of encouraging light.

But no more can all these scenes return;

The thought is affecting to me;

Yet from them trust a lesson to learn,

That nothing substantial can be.

I Wish I Were in Love Again

The sleepless nights, the daily fights,

The quick toboggan when you reach the heights;

I miss the kisses and I miss the bites,

I wish I were in love again!

The broken date, the endless waits,

The lovely loving and the hateful hates,

The conversation with the flying plates,

I wish I were in love again!

No more pain, no more strain,

Now I'm sane, but I would rather be ga-ga!

The pulled out fur of cat and cur,

The fine mismating of a him and her,

I've learned my lesson,

But I wishe I were in love again!

The furtive sigh, the blackened eye,

The words, 'I'll love you till the day I die',

The self-deception that believes the lie,

I wish I were in love again!

When love congeals it soon reveals

The faint aroma of performing seals,

The double crossing of a pair of heels

I wish I were I love again!

No more care, no despair.

I'm all there now, but I'd rather be punch-drunk!

Believe me, sir, I much prefer

The classic battle of a him and her,

I don't like quiet and

I wishe I were in love again!

LORENZ HART (1895-1943)