Love is what I see in your smile

Love is what I see in, your smile every day.
Love is what I feel in, every touch you give.
Love is what I hear in, every word you say.
Love is what we share every day we live

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Drink to me-Ben Jonson

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
And I'll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Love's nectar sup,
I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
It could not withered be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe,

And sent'st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
Not of itself but thee!

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My country love

My country love
If you passed her in your city
You would call her badly dressed,
But the faded homespun covers
Such a heart in such a breast!
True, her rosy face is freckled
By the sun's abundant flame,
But she's mine with all her failings,
And I love her just the same.

If her hands are red they grapple
To my hands with splendid strength,
For she's mine, all mine's the beauty
Of her straight and lovely length!

True, her hose be think and homely
And her speech is homely, too;
But she's mine! her rarest charm is
She's for me, and not for you!

Norman Rowland Gale

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Emily Dickinson - A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest

A Wounded Deer — leaps highest –
I’ve heard the Hunter tell –
‘Tis but the Ecstasy of death –
And then the Brake is still!

The Smitten Rock that gushes!
The trampled Steel that springs!
A Cheek is always redder
Just where the Hectic stings!

Mirth is the Mail of Anguish
In which it Cautious Arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And “you’re hurt” exclaim!

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Elizabeth Barrett - How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

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