There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.
There is nothing holier in this life of ours than the first consciousness of love, the first fluttering of its silken wings.
Is it the tender star of love?
When one is truly in love, one not only says it, but shows it.
Thou recallest homes
Where thy songs of love and friendship
Made the gloomy Northern winter
Bright as summer.
The star of love and dreams?
The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,
As the symbol of love in heaven,
And its wavering image here.
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest!
My morning and my evening star of love!
The dawn is not distant, nor is the night starless; love is eternal.
Thus the bard of love departed;
And, fulfilling his desire,
On his tomb the birds were feasted
By the children of the choir.
Love gives itself; it is not bought.
O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Love keeps the cold out better than a cloak.
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,
The holy melodies of love arise.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories