|A Valentine is nothing like |
A chocolate or a rose.
For in a week these shall be gone,
But Valentines remain.
If love were always sweet to tongue
Or fragrant to the nose,
Each day would be like Valentine's,
And we would go insane.
A Valentine just hangs around
Waiting to be kissed
Long after special days have passed
And every days are here.
So one is wise to choose one well
And chocolates to resist.
For in the midst of mania
It's nice to have one near.
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|Although our love is over, it remains |
An unfrequented garden in my heart,
Its beauty quite inseparable from pain,
A wilderness where once was willful art.
I hope a little piece of you is still
Reserved for me, a place you may not go,
But where my room, untenanted, can fill
A moment with my music, sweet and slow.
There are no wishes like a former lover's
That from the dark, repentant night must shine.
And so though we have both moved on to others,
I send you from afar this Valentine.
|Be my Valentine, for I |
Each day have thought of you.
My whole life couldn't manage what
Your ready smile can do,
Vanquishing my loneliness
As though all light were new.
Let me be your Valentine
Even as you're mine,
Needing what I have to give
That each might each define
In friendship and in harmony,
Now you, now I the melody,
Each helping each to shine.
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|Be my Valentine, my love, |
As I will be for you,
And we will love the whole day long,
And love our whole lives through.
For love has no parameters
And does not end with time,
But is the gift of paradise,
A pinch of the sublime.
So let us take this holiday
To resubmit our love
To those within that know no sin
And with the angels move.
|Be my Valentine: What does that mean? |
Each of us must walk through life alone,
More deeply desolate than we have known,
Yearning for a truth we've never seen.
Valentines are from beyond that dream,
Are like a sunrise on a world of stone.
Little on this journey can we own
Except as miracles might intervene.
No way but through loving might we give
The freedom of our being to another.
In such a sacrifice we hope to live
No longer bound by dreams of flesh and bone,
Even as we bind our lives together
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|Be with us in the circle of our love, |
Even if by chance you are alone.
Our greetings we have hope your heart will move,
Uniting our good wishes with your own.
Remember there are those who think of you,
Vested in the will to be a friend.
As distant hills give depth to what we view,
Let these words some grace to your day lend.
Each life is lived behind a sheltering veil,
Not lifted but for love. Yet when we will,
There is a wind that shifts the rampart frail,
Invading with sweet scent the spirit st
|Beautiful eyes, beautiful face, |
I'm shy to talk to you.
You're the eagle I must watch
No matter what I do.
You're the beauty, wild and free,
The mistress of my eyes,
Rolling through exultant air,
Alone in pristine skies.
I would take you for my own
Could I but have your wings,
Could I but go where night begins
And frozen sunlight sings.
Could I but have you for my love,
How might we fly together!
But I must watch you from below
And long for you forever.
But I must be the one below
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|Before I ask y'all, please understand, |
Even as I come from way down South,
My heart is more loquacious than my mouth,
Yearning like a wave for your smooth sand.
Very few down here will show their hand,
Aching like a riverbed for rain,
Lying like a platitude in pain,
Each chili inside, outside baked beans bland.
Now here down South it ain't right to demand
The things you're dying for, but you real fine,
In a voice polite as preachers set to dine,
Nicely say, "Mind if I trouble you, Ma'am," -
|Before I knew you, I had always loved you, |
Even as I dreamed of whom I'd love.
My inner picture was a portrait of you
Years before your heart my heart would move.
Vistas of enchantment are but rarely
As we find them in reality.
Love with you is what I dreamed, but really,
Eden as no dream could ever be.
Nor is this the magic of the moment,
The proper costume for the holiday.
In words like these one finds the winnowed ferment,
Not of the desire, but of the way,
Else lost amid the longings of the
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|Before love, that jolting lilt |
East of roses, in perturbed darkness,
Missing the eternal circumstance,
Yearning still, again, for that exploratory tilt ï¿½
Vainly would I fly into your heart
Afire, burning, consumed, expended.
Love is not an ending; nor does it end
Easily: becomes pith, becomes seed, starts
Needing, kneading, mid-desperation,
The long climb out of loneliness, turning
In hope, in anguish, in foolish expectation.
No two are joined except in painful learning:
Each frightened les
|Blessed are those who cherish well their loves! |
Each enduring love is like a river:
Making bloom the land through which it moves,
Yielding bounty in exchange for labor.
Very few appreciate this treasure,
As most desire more while giving less,
Liable to miss joy pursuing pleasure,
Each dragged into love under duress.
Nor does one understand so easily
That love requires one to be a lover:
Intimate in ways that set one free,
Needing for one's sense of self the other,
Even as one is oneself an other
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|Blessings are the things we take for granted. |
Each holiday we notice what we see.
Most know the Earth is utterly enchanted
Yet walk through life and love mechanically.
Valuing one's gifts takes resolution
After days and nights of fantasy.
Love brings the sweet relief of absolution,
Enveloping our hesitance in need.
No touch inspires so swift a revolution,
Transforming all the hieroglyphs we read.
In your love is the charity of spring,
Nor self-obsessed nor blinded by some creed,
Embracing the gr
|Carrie is my Valentine, |
A fantasy come true,
Reminding me that fortune can
Reenter what we do.
I said what words were in my heart,
Each far more than I knew.
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|Each day your smile becomes my morning star. |
I look at you and then my feelings shine.
From you I learn far more than words or numbers:
You're the book that someday will be mine.
You're the one whose love my love of learning
Will one day trace in its ancestral line.
For all the ways you help me grow towards beauty,
I ask you please to be my Valentine.
|Whose gift this is you cannot know. |
My heart is in your keeping though.
You will not mind my writing here
To tell you that I love you so.
I know that you must think it queer
For me to love and not come near
But linger by some frozen lake
This most romantic time of year.
I sometimes give my head a shake
And ask if there is some mistake.
It's lonely out here 'mid the sweep
Of bitter wind and icy flake.
My love for you is dark and deep,
But it's a promise I will keep
As from afar I watch an
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|Happiness is not a tended rose |
Amid the prescient beauty of a garden:
Perhaps one senses soon some gate may close;
Perhaps one senses soon the earth will harden.
Years come and go like waves upon a shore,
Violent or peaceful with the wind.
After one has given up on more,
Love waits within the heart, its passion thinned.
Even in a passage void of light,
Nether windings black with rage and grief,
There are waters sweet with lost delight
In which one finds a strong, serene belief.
No happiness can
|Happy Valentine, my love! |
All my love is yours.
Praised be love that brings us home,
Pilgrims to these shores.
Yearnings here find harborage;
Vanities, sly smiles.
All that righteous anger rends,
Love here reconciles.
Even in the darkness where
No bitterness finds rest,
Thoughts of you are like a dawn
Intent on happiness.
Nor would I have so light a heart
Except that I am blessed!
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|Here among the lovers I wait willing, |
Alone because I cannot be with you,
Pensive in the press of people filling
Promenades with passions spent and due.
Yet I am happy in my melancholy,
Vested in a love that like the night
Arrays itself in dreams that veil me wholly,
Leaving me contented till the light.
Even were I with you, I would wander
Near the things that would, but cannot be,
Taking you with me towards that inner wonder
In which we find the truest ecstasy.
Nor would our love be greater not
|Here there are not tears enough to tell you |
All the love I have within my heart,
Plainly to proclaim my love before you,
Put with simple grace and little art.
Yet I must try, for love ought not be hidden,
Veiled for fear of nakedness if known,
Afraid to enter silences unbidden
Lest it should have to cross the stage alone.
Even so, love needs the wings of words:
No truth is not transfigured by expression.
The heart of love, like those of captured birds,
Interred too long succumbs to its depression
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|Hope is a breeze across an open field. |
Anger comes from pounding on a door,
Positive one wants the door to yield.
Perhaps from this one senses something more.
Yearning is a song to wake the dead.
Very few can yearn for what is theirs.
Although love waits half-naked on the bed,
Life can seem a maze of doors and stairs.
Each soul pursues the prey of its desire,
Not knowing that to have must mean to kill.
There is no deed that documents love's fire;
In lovers' hearts, one comes and goes at will.