Eat some wittle twees wit me
Sonnet 30 by Edna St Vincent Millay
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a different hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
Moon Rondeau by Carl Sandburg
"Love is a door we shall open together."
So they told each other under the moon
One evening when the smell of leaf mould
And the beginnings of roses and potatoes
Came on a wind.
Late in the hours of that evening
They looked long at the moon and called it
A silver button, a copper coin, a bronze-wafer,
A plaque of gold, a vanishing diadem,
A brass hat dripping from deep waters.
"People like us,
us two,
We own the moon."
Love Without Love by Luis Llorens Torres
I love you, because in my thousand and one nights of dreams,
I never once dreamed of you.
I looked down the paths that traveled from afar,
But it was never you I expected.
Suddenly I’ve felt you flying through my soul in quick lofty flight,
And how beautiful you seem way up there far from my always idiot heart!
Love me that way, flying over everything.
And, like the bird on its branch, land in my arms only to rest, then fly off again.
Be not like the romantic ones who in love, set me on fire.
When you climb up my mansion enter so lightly, that as you enter the dog of my heart will not bark.
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink
Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain;
Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink
And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath,
Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;
Yet many a man is making friends with death
Even as I speak, for lack of love alone.
It well may be that in a different hour,
Pinned down by pain and moaning for release,
Or nagged by want past resolution’s power,
I might be driven to sell your love for peace,
Or trade the memory of this night for food.
It well may be. I do not think I would.
Moon Rondeau by Carl Sandburg
"Love is a door we shall open together."
So they told each other under the moon
One evening when the smell of leaf mould
And the beginnings of roses and potatoes
Came on a wind.
Late in the hours of that evening
They looked long at the moon and called it
A silver button, a copper coin, a bronze-wafer,
A plaque of gold, a vanishing diadem,
A brass hat dripping from deep waters.
"People like us,
us two,
We own the moon."
Love Without Love by Luis Llorens Torres
I love you, because in my thousand and one nights of dreams,
I never once dreamed of you.
I looked down the paths that traveled from afar,
But it was never you I expected.
Suddenly I’ve felt you flying through my soul in quick lofty flight,
And how beautiful you seem way up there far from my always idiot heart!
Love me that way, flying over everything.
And, like the bird on its branch, land in my arms only to rest, then fly off again.
Be not like the romantic ones who in love, set me on fire.
When you climb up my mansion enter so lightly, that as you enter the dog of my heart will not bark.