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Oh my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung
in June:
Oh my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So
deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry,
my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it
were ten thousand mile!
Robert Burns | |
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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 every day's
Most quiet need, by sun
and candlelight.
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 oId 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.
Elizabeth
Barrett Browning
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Shall I compare thee to a summer's
day ?
Thou
art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short
a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair
sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor
lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to
time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
Williams
Shakespeare
Come live with me and be my Love,
And we
will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Or woods or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks,
And see
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 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 shepherd 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.
Chritopher Marlowe
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