#poetry

This, this indeed is to be accursed, For if we mortals love, or if we sing, We count our joys not by what we have, But by what kept us from that perfect thing. ↗

— Paul Laurence Dunbar

#love

But let us laugh carelessly like other men. Let us be timid even among fools. Let us knot silence around our throats. For they would surely kill us. ↗

— Glenway Wescott

#love #poetry #secrecy #love

If you were queen of pleasure And I were king of pain We'd hunt down love together Pluck out his flying-feather, And teach his feet a measure, And find his mouth a rein; If you were queen of pleasure And I were king of pain. ↗

— Algernon Charles Swinburne

#poetry #love

Car j'ai vécu de vous attendre, Et mon coeur n'était que vos pas. ↗

— Paul Valéry

#poetry-quotes #love

...words are so strong and I am so timid - my soul ignores warnings and I end up covered with your paint ... ↗

— John Geddes

#love #poetry #shy #soul #timid

I love my love with a b because she is peculiar. ↗

— Gertrude Stein

#love #narration #peculiar #poetry #love

My love is like to ice, and I to fire; How comes it then that this her cold so great Is not dissolv'd through my so hot desire, But harder grows the more I her entreat? Or how comes it that my exceeding heat Is not delay’d 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 all things melts, should harden ice; And ice, which is congeal’d 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. ↗

— Edmund Spenser

#poetry #love

As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved in her laughter and being part of it, until her teeth were only accidental stars with a talent for squad-drill. ↗

— T.S. Eliot

#poetry #love

I fly through memory to find a newborn love. ↗

— Dejan Stojanovic

#find #finding-love-love #flying #literature #literature-quotes

I envy not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time, Unfetter’d by the sense of crime, To whom a conscience never wakes; Nor, what may count itself as blest, The heart that never plighted troth But stagnates in the weeds of sloth; Nor any want-begotten rest. I hold it true, whate’er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; ‘Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. ↗

— Alfred Tennyson

#love