Love Poems

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How come it then that this her cold is so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which is congealed with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.

A friend of mine is trying on-line dating, and sent me the text of the profile of one of the guys who write to her. It was so awful I had to read it twice. In fact, it was so awful I had to pass it on. Part of me really wants to believe someone is making this up. Unfortunately, sad experience tells me that it is probably real. This, my friends, is quite the catch (note, spelling is exactly as she copy-pasted):

To one who has been long in city pent
'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
And open face of heaven, -to breathe a prayer
Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
And gentle tale of love and languishment?
Returning home at evening, with an ear
Catching the notes of Philomel, -an eye
Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
He mourns that day so soon has glided by,
E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
That falls through the clear ether silently.

I don’t know if any of you have ever tried to use the internet to try to find love. I haven’t really given it much of an effort. I can remember back in the day using Yahoo! Personals but it was totally filled with pervs and fake people. Nowadays most of us see all the commercials on t.v. and here all the radio spots for the big sites for online-match-making. I’ve put a little list together of all the most reputable online dating and online personals sites. LQQK:

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost
Who died before the god of love was born.
I cannot think that he who then loved most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
But since this god produced a destiny
And let that vice-nature, custom, lets it be,
I must love her that loves not me.

Sure, they which made him god meant not so much,
Nor he in his young godhead practiced it.
But when an even flame two hearts did touch,
His office was indulgently to fit
Actives to passives. Correspondency
Only his subject was; it cannot be
Love, till I love her who loves me.

But every modern god will not extend
His vast prerogative as far as Jove.
To rage, to lust, to write to, to commend,
All is the purlieu of the god of love.
O! were we wakened by this tyranny
To ungod this child again, it could not be
I should love her who loves not me.

Rebel and atheist too, why murmur I,
As though I felt the worst that love could do?
Love may make me leave loving, or might try
A deeper plague, to make her love me too;
Which, since she loves before, I'm loath to see.
Falsehood is worse than hate; and that must be,
If she whom I so love, should love me.

My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Magnanimous Despair alone
Could show me so divine a thing,
Where feeble Hope could ne'er have flown
But vainly flapped its tinsel wing.

And yet I quickly might arrive
Where my extended soul is fixed
But Fate does iron wedges drive,
And always crowds itself betwixt.

For Fate with jealous eye does see
Two perfect loves, nor lets them close:
Their union would her ruin be,
And her tyrranic power depose.

And therefore her decrees of steel
Us as the distant Poles have placed
(Though Love's whole world on us doth wheel)
Not by themselves to be embraced,

Unless the giddy heaven fall,
And earth some new convulsion tear;
And, us to join, the world should all
Be cramped into a planisphere.

As lines (so loves) oblique may well
Themselves in every angle greet:
But ours so truly parallel,
Though infinite, can never meet.

Therefore the love which us doth bind,
But Fate so enviously debars,
Is the conjunction of the mind,
And opposition of the stars.

I saw in Louisiana a live-oak growing,
All alone stood it and the moss hung down from the branches,
Without any companion it stood there uttering joyous leaves of dark green,
And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself,
But I wondered how it could utter joyous leaves standing alone there without
        its friend near, for I knew I could not,
And I broke off a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined
        around it a little moss,
And brought it away, and I have placed it in sight in my room,
It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends,
(For I believe lately I think of little else than of them,)
Yet it remains to me a curious token, it makes me think of manly love;
For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana solitary
      in a wide flat space,
Uttering joyous leaves all its life without a friend or lover near,
I know very well I could not.

Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art-
   Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
And watching, with eternal lids apart,
   Like nature's patient sleepless eremite,
The moving waters at their priestlike task
   Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
   Of snow upon the mountains and the moors;
No-yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
   Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
   Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
And so live ever-or else swoon to death.

Maxwelton's braes are bonnie
Where early fa's the dew,
And it's there that Annie Laurie
Gie'd me her promise true;
Gie'd me her promise true,
Which ne'er forgot will be;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

Her brow is like the snaw drift;
Her throat is like the swan;
Her face it is the fairest
The e'er the sun shone on--
The e'er the sun shone on--
And dark blue is her ee;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

Like dew on the gowan lying
Is the fa' o' her fairy feet;
And like the winds in summer sighing,
Her voice is low and sweet--
Her voice is low and sweet--
And she's s' the world to me;
And for bonnie Annie Laurie
I'd lay me doun and dee.

Cold in the earth--and the deep snow piled above thee,
Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!
Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee
Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?

Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover
Over the mountains, on that northern shore,
Resting their wings where heath and fern leaves cover
Thy noble heart forever, ever more?

Cold in the earth--and fifteen wild Decembers,
From those brown hills, have melted into spring;
Faithful indeed is the spirit that remembers
After such years of change and suffering!

Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,
While the world's tide is bearing me along;
Other desires and other hopes beset me,
Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong!

No later light has lightened up my heaven,
No second morn has ever shone for me;
All my life's bliss from thy dear life has given,
All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.

But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,
And even Despair was powerless to destroy,
Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,
Strengthened, and fed without the aid of joy.

Then did I check the tears of useless passion--
Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;
Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten
Down to that tomb already more than mine.

And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,
Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;
Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish,
How could I seek the empty world again?

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne'er be equal powers:
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover's lute,
Or little pitted speck in garner'd fruit,
That rotting inward slowly moulders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go;
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.

Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

I wish I were where Helen lies
Night and day on me she cries
Oh that I were where Helen lies
On fair Kirkconnell lee

Oh think ye na my heart was sair
When my love dropt down and spake nae mair
There did she swoon wi' meikle care
On fair Kirkconnell lee

Curst be the heart that thought the thought
And curst the hand that fired the shot
When in my arms burd Helen dropt
And died to succour me

Oh that I were where Helen lies
Night and day on me she cries
Out of my bed she bids me rise
Says, "Haste, and come to me"

Oh Helen fair, beyond compare
I'll weave a garland of thy hair
Shall bind my heart forever mair
Until the day I dee

I wish my grave were growing green
A winding-sheet drawn o'er my een
And I in Helen's arms lying
On fair Kirkconnell lee

Oh Helen fair, oh Helen chaste
Were I with thee I would be blest
Where thou lies low and takes thy rest
On fair Kirkconnell lee

I wish I were where Helen lies
Night and day on me she cries
And I am weary of the sky
For her sake that died for me

Two interesting internet dating stories on Howard Reingold's Smart Mobs blog. The first -- Study of Online Dating is about a study of a Swedish dating site published in the prestigious Nature. magazine. The other and probably more interesting story is about the mating of online quiz king Tickle and the Ask Jeeves search engine people in a story called "The next big thing in online social networking". The story is from one on Click News.

Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Dost thou desire my slumbers should be broken,
While shadows like to thee do mock my sight?
Is it thy spirit that thou send'st from thee
So far from home into my deeds to pry,
To find out shames and idle hours in me,
The scope and tenor of thy jealousy?
O, no! thy love, though much, is not so great:
It is my love that keeps mine eye awake:
Mine own true love that doth my rest defeat,
To play the watchman ever for thy sake:
For thee watch I, whilst thou dost wake elsewhere,
From me far off, with others all too near.

I shall seek and find you...
I shall take you to bed and control you...
I will make you ache, shake and sweat until you grunt and groan...
I will make you beg for mercy...
I will exhaust you to the point that you will be relieved when I leave you...
You will be weak for days after I am gone.

Whoe'er she be,
That not impossible she
That shall command my heart and me;

Where'er she lie,
Locked up from mortal eye
In shady leaves of destiny:

Till that ripe birth
Of studied fate stand forth,
And teach her fair steps to our earth;

Till that divine
Idea take a shrine
Of crystal flesh, through which to shine:

Meet you her, my wishes,
Bespeak her to my blisses,
And be ye called my absent kisses.

I wish her beauty,
That owes not all its duty
To gaudy tire, or glist'ring shoe-tie;

Something more than
Taffata or tissue can,
Or rampant feather, or rich fan;

More than the spoil
Of shop, or silkworm's toil,
Or a bought blush, or a set smile.

A face that's best
By its own beauty drest,
And can alone commend the rest:

A face made up
Out of no other shop
Than what nature's white hand sets ope.

A cheek where youth
And blood with pen of truth
Write what the reader sweetly ru'th.

A cheek where grows
More than a morning rose,
Which to no box his being owes.

Lips, where all day
A lovers kiss may play,
Yet carry nothing thence away.

Looks that oppress
Their richest tires, but dress
And clothe their simplest nakedness.

Eyes, that displaces
The neighbour diamond, and outfaces
That sunshine by their own sweet graces.

Tresses, that wear
Jewels, but to declare
How much themselves more precious are;

Whose native ray
Can tame the wanton day
Of gems that in their bright shades play.

Each ruby there,
Or pearl that dare appear,
Be its own blush, be its own tear.

A well-tamed heart,
For whose more noble smart
Love may be long choosing a dart.

Eyes, that bestow
Full quivers on Love's bow,
Yet pay less arrows than they owe.

Smiles, that can warm
The blood, yet teach a charm,
That chastity shall take no harm.

Blushes, that bin
The burnish of no sin,
Nor flames of aught too hot within.

Joyes, that confess
Virtue their mistress,
And have no other head to dress.

Fears, fond and flight
As the coy bride's when night
First does the longing lover right.

Tears, quickly fled
And vain as those are shed
For a dying maidenhead.

Days, that need borrow
No part of their good morrow
From a forspent night of sorrow.

Days, that, in spite
Of darkness, by the light
Of a clear mind are day all night.

Nights, sweet as they,
Made short by lovers' play,
Yet long by th' absence of the day.

Life, that dares send
A challenge to its end,
And when it comes say Welcome Friend.

Sydneian showers
Of sweet discourse, whose powers
Can crown old winter's head with flowers.

Soft silken hours,
Open suns, shady bowers
'Bove all; nothing within that lours.

Whate'er delight
Can make day's forehead bright,
Or give down to the wings of night.

In her whole frame
Have nature all the name,
Art and ornament the shame.

Her flattery
Picture and poesy,
Her counsel her own virtue be.

I wish her store
Of worth may leave her poor
Of wishes; and I wish -no more.

Now, if Time knows
That Her, whose radiant brows
Weave them a garland of my vows;

Her, whose just bays
My future hopes can raise,
A trophy to her present praise;

Her, that dares be
What these lines wish to see:
I seek no further, it is she.

'Tis she, and here
Lo! I unclothe and clear
My wishes' cloudy character.

May she enjoy it,
Whose merit dare apply it,
But modesty dares still deny it!

Such worth as this is
Shall fix my flying wishes,
And determine them to kisses.

Let her full glory,
My fancies, fly before ye;
Be ye my fictions, but her story.

Love not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for a constant heart:
     For these may fail or turn to ill,
       So thou and I shall sever:
Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,
And love me still but know not why—
     So hast thou the same reason still
       To doat upon me ever!

I have preached my belief that women should be treated with respect. Keep that in mind as you read. But when it becomes painfully obvious that the date or the compatibility of the participants is doomed, you must abort. Prolonging the agony will only escalate the situation.

If it is obvious to both parties that there is no way this will ever work, most people ride out the rest of the evening in a friendly manner. However, there are times when your date may become aggressive, disrespectful and downright nasty. You do not have to take abuse, verbal or physical. Immediately offer to take her home. If she declines your offer, try to politely insist. I repeat--if it's a terrible date and you're not having fun, mercifully shut it down.

You should never abandon a date. That's a horrible thing to do--unless she is absolutely crazed and becoming violent.

MY Love in her attire doth show her wit,	 
  It doth so well become her:	 
For every season she hath dressings fit,	 
  For Winter, Spring, and Summer.	 
No beauty she doth miss
When all her robes are on;	 
But Beauty's self she is	 
When all her robes are gone.

As I walked out one evening,
Walking down Bristol Street,
The crowds upon the pavement
Were fields of harvest wheat.

And down by the brimming river
I heard a lover sing
Under an arch of the railway:
‘Love has no ending.

‘I’ll love you, dear, I’ll love you
Till China and Africa meet,
And the river jumps over the mountain
And the salmon sing in the street,

’I’ll love you till the ocean
Is folded and hung to dry
And the seven stars go squawking
Like geese about the sky.

‘The years shall run like rabbits,
For in my arms I hold
The Flower of the Ages,
And the first love of the world.’

But all the clocks in the city
Began to whirr and chime:
‘O let not Time deceive you,
You cannot conquer Time.

‘In the burrows of the Nightmare
Where Justice naked is,
Time watches from the shadow
And coughs when you would kiss.

‘In headaches and in worry
Vaguely life leaks away,
And Time will have his fancy
To-morrow or to-day.

‘Into many a green valley
Drifts the appalling snow;
Time breaks the threaded dances
And the diver’s brilliant bow.

‘O plunge your hands in water,
Plunge them in up to the wrist;
Stare, stare in the basin
And wonder what you’ve missed.

‘The glacier knocks in the cupboard,
The desert sighs in the bed,
And the crack in the tea-cup opens
A lane to the land of the dead.

‘Where the beggars raffle the banknotes
And the Giant is enchanting to Jack,
And the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer,
And Jill goes down on her back.

‘O look, look in the mirror!
O look in your distress:
Life remains a blessing
Although you cannot bless.

‘O stand, stand at the window
As the tears scald and start;
You shall love your crooked neighbour
With your crooked heart.’

It was late, late in the evening,
The lovers they were gone;
The clocks had ceased their chiming,
And the deep river ran on.

When I consider everything that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and check'd even by the selfsame sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.

Romantic comedies follow a definite formula, and it's a real trip to see a film that not only acknowledges this but works within it to create a truly bizarre send-up of all those cliches. The narrator steps us through the process, from meeting the heroine to the uncovering of the horrible villains and the heroic couple's Happily Ever After ending. Although the characters occasional rebel, the narrator brings them to heel and the result is a hilariously meta romantic comedy.

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 damask'd, 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.

How are romances that begin online similar to and different from romances that begin in real-life? Narratives from players who began a romantic relationship online talk about their experiences. Below, several players offer their stories of how they met their real life romantic partners online and how the relationship progressed.

With you I saw it in the pictures your mom showed
and maybe even home movies
that we might've watched
when boredom from pretending to know
what was love
got overwhelming.

But this only makes you
the most obvious case study
(having ignored my sisters diligently)
and knowing you as well as I thought I did
I'm still unsure what it is.

Stirrup pants
and long straight hair
and a scooter,

Supreme confidence
always teetering on the brink
of a skinned knee and tears

sexuality hiding sneakily behind the corner
whispering things that sounded
more terrifying than dirty

Ready to be at once
a mother, an infant, a lover

Is all the confusion
about us and you
in your first babysitting job,
first pair of heels,
first tube of lipstick?

My daughters unborn, I guess what I'm trying to say is
I'm fearful not of the men who will come to take you away
but the woman that will sneak up on your tea party.

Are you looking for me?
I am in the next seat.
My shoulder is against yours.
You will not find me in the stupas,
not in Indian shrine rooms,
nor in synagogues, nor in cathedrals:
not in masses, nor kirtans,
not in legs winding around your own neck,
nor in eating nothing but vegetables.
When you really look for me,
you will see me instantly --
you will find me in the tiniest house of time.

She lay all naked in her bed,
And I myself lay by;
No veil but curtains about her spread,
No covering but I:
Her head upon her shoulders seeks
To hang in careless wise,
And full of blushes was her cheeks,
And of wishes were her eyes.

Her blood still fresh into her face,
As on a message came,
To say that in another place
It meant another game;
Her cherry lip moist, plump, and fair,
Millions of kisses crown,
Which ripe and uncropped dangled there,
And weigh the branches down.

Her breasts, that welled so plump and high
Bred pleasant pain in me,
For all the world I do defy
The like felicity;
Her thighs and belly, soft and fair,
To me were only shown:
To have seen such meat, and not to have eat,
Would have angered any stone.

Her knees lay upward gently bent,
And all lay hollow under,
As if on easy terms, they meant
To fall unforced asunder;
Just so the Cyprian Queen did lie,
Expecting in her bower;
When too long stay had kept the boy
Beyond his promised hour.

'Dull clown,' quoth she, 'why dost delay
Such proffered bliss to take?
Canst thou find out no other way
Similitudes to make?'
Mad with delight I thundering
Throw my arms about her,
But pox upon't 'twas but a dream.
And so I lay without her. 

Here are some pointers to the newbie Lotusphere attendees. I am not going to try replicate Turtle's excellent tips at the Gonzo Lotusphere site (especially the classic "The Unofficial Gonzo Guide to Meeting People at Lotusphere" post - highly recommended).

Tips and Tricks to Writing Romance by Mary Beth Lee is a collection of writing tips for beginning romance writers. Part of the Red River Romance Writers site.

Beyond the hilltops to the north and west.
   Beyond the dells, and past the pleasant streams.
   Beyond the lakes that murmur in their dreams
The liquid fancies of their silver rest---
In such sweet thoughts as haunt a poet's breast---
   (For lakes are poets, Love) there dwells my theme's
   Sweet idol, you, Beloved, O Love, it seems
That of all women you are first and best!
   I love you deeply, and my soul would prove
Its passion, Dearest, on this page for you.
What shall I say?---O Love, believe me true!
   Ask lake and hilltop if they know my song:
      Ask stream and dell, and airs that bear along
         My soul's blown odors, if they know my love.

              Had we but world enough, and time,
              This coyness, lady, were no crime.
              We would sit down and think which way
              To walk, and pass our long love's day;
              Thou by the Indian Ganges' side
              Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide
              Of Humber would complain. I would
              Love you ten years before the Flood;
              And you should, if you please, refuse
              Till the conversion of the Jews.
              My vegetable love should grow
              Vaster than empires, and more slow.
              An hundred years should go to praise
              Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze;
              Two hundred to adore each breast,
              But thirty thousand to the rest;
              An age at least to every part,
              And the last age should show your heart.
              For, lady, you deserve this state,
              Nor would I love at lower rate.

                    But at my back I always hear
              Time's winged chariot hurrying near;
              And yonder all before us lie
              Deserts of vast eternity.
              Thy beauty shall no more be found,
              Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound
              My echoing song; then worms shall try
              That long preserv'd virginity,
              And your quaint honour turn to dust,
              And into ashes all my lust.
              The grave's a fine and private place,
              But none I think do there embrace.

                    Now therefore, while the youthful hue
              Sits on thy skin like morning dew,
              And while thy willing soul transpires
              At every pore with instant fires,
              Now let us sport us while we may;
              And now, like am'rous birds of prey,
              Rather at once our time devour,
              Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power.
              Let us roll all our strength, and all
              Our sweetness, up into one ball;
              And tear our pleasures with rough strife
              Thorough the iron gates of life.
              Thus, though we cannot make our sun
              Stand still, yet we will make him run.

i had a dream, it seemed so real
you shot me in my heart, i got back up
but i realized now, that it's true
you shot me so deep, the bullet remains
i'm still living with it there, bleeding
i'm bleeding inside, still, day after day
living with the bullet that you shot in me
barely standing, barely living, bleeding
but that wound is not the only one
i have more left, each with a different gun
different people shoot me, and yet i stand
bearing all the bullets that are put in me
but the worst part isn't them there, bleeding
the worst part is, i'm bleeding alone

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies.
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shephards' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

    That time of year thou mayst in me behold
    When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
    Upon those boughs which shake against the cold
    Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.
    In me thou seest the twilight of such day
    As after sunset fadeth in the west,
    Which by and by black night doth steal away,
    Death's second self, which seals up all in rest.
    In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
    That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
    As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
    Consumed with that which it was nourished by.
    This thou perceiv'st, which makes thy love more strong,
    To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

IDEA # 1
If your partner is going away for a few days, tell her that you are worried about her so you have organized a bodyguard to look after her. Then give her a small teddy bear.

IDEA # 2
Buy a packet of glow in the dark stars and stick the stars on the roof above your bed to spell out a message such as "I Love You" When the lights go down, your message will be revealed!

IDEA # 3
On a special occasion, buy your partner eleven real red roses and one artificial red rose. Place the artificial rose in the center of the bouquet. Attach a card that says: "I will love you until the last rose fades."

IDEA # 4
Buy the domain name of your partner's name if it is available for example www.TanyaJohnston.com. Create a web page containing a romantic poem and a picture of a rose. When your partner is surfing the web, casually ask whether she has ever checked to see whether her domain name is taken. Let her type it in to discover her page.

Office romance was a hot topic in the media this month, as editors scrambled to fill pages with articles appropriate to Valentine's Day.

Consensus is that office romance is on the rise due to an increase in the number of single workers (up 18 percent in the past decade, according to CNN) and the number of women -- both married and single -- in the workplace.

THe souerayne beauty which I doo admyre,
witnesse the world how worthy to be prayzed:
the light wherof hath kindled heauenly iyre,
in my fraile spirit by her from basenesse raysed.
That being now with her huge brightnesse dazed,
base thing I can no more endure to view:
but looking still on her I stand amazed,
at wondrous sight of so celestiall hew.
So when my toung would speak her praises dew,
it stopped is with thoughts astonishment:
and when my pen would write her titles true,
it rauisht is with fancies wonderment:
Yet in my hart I then both speake and write,
the wonder that my wit cannot endite.

I cannot exist without you. I am forgetful of everything but seeing you again. My life seems to stop there, I see no further. You have absorb'd me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving. I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for religion... I have shudder'd at it... I shudder no more. I could be martyr'd for my religion: Love is my religion. I could die for that. I could die for you. My creed is love, and you are its only tenet. You have ravish'd me away by a power I cannot resist.

In a recent short story I wrote, a writer is told by a young critic that he doesn't understand love. "It's neither noble nor eternal, as you would have your audience believe," she says.

"Nobody understands love," the writer admits. "It seems to be Universal. Timeless. Yet, it's also very individual, filtered by our own lives and expectations. I don't understand love, and can't understand love, because it's a different thing for each of us."

    Remember thee! remember thee!
      Till Lethe quench life's burning stream
    Remorse and shame shall cling to thee,
      And haunt thee like a feverish dream!

    Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.
      Thy husband too shall think of thee:
    By neither shalt thou be forgot,
      Thou false to him, thou fiend to me!

I laid me down upon a bank,
  Where Love lay sleeping;
I heard among the rushes dank
  Weeping, weeping.
 
Then I went to the heath and the wild,
  To the thistles and thorns of the waste;
And they told me how they were beguiled,
  Driven out, and compelled to the chaste.
 
I went to the Garden of Love,
  And saw what I never had seen;
A Chapel was built in the midst,
  Where I used to play on the green.
 
And the gates of this Chapel were shut
  And "Thou shalt not," writ over the door;
So I turned to the Garden of Love
  That so many sweet flowers bore.
 
And I saw it was filled with graves,
  And tombstones where flowers should be;
And priests in black gowns were walking their rounds,
  And binding with briars my joys and desires.