My pleasant solace, my delightful care,
Than whom no heart has ever been more dear,
O give me first a kiss with wine-stained lip
Before I take the cup wherefroMyou sip:
And then if you will love's true joys bestow,
Not Jove himself surpasses me, I trow.

Stay , traveller, and pass not by
This noble monument unread,
The city's darling here doth lie,
Wit, art, and grace with him are fled
And Rome doth mourn uncomforted.
Lost is her dear delight and prize,
For love and all desire are dead,
Hid in the grave where Paris lies.

I WOULD, indeed, that Heaven had made me meek,
Content to hold and fill a second place,
Take lesser love as undeservèd grace,
And bow my thankful head when one should speak
Me gently, touch with careless hand my cheek,
Or bend sometimes and kiss my unpraised face,
Since she, forsooth, is in her far-off place
For whom his highest homage seemed too weak.

But I was made with passionate, strong soul,
And what I would, I would have wholly mine;
And if I bow my head to Love's control,
And to his keeping all myself consign,

Not the unshriven wrong or the unpaid debt
Here in the crumbling years is my worst regret—
Rather the memory of one joy wasted:
Of a stupid, youthful righteousness that reckoned
Too bloodlessly, and once, when wild love beckoned,
Fled, leaving the perilous sweet sin untasted.

There's a heaven on earth—
A heaven that's mine—
In the gift of her heart
Whose love is divine.

There's a light in her eye,
That wins without art;
And there's grace in her step,
And joy in her heart.

When the heart blends with heart,
Confiding and true,
Then on earth there's a heaven,
With joys ever new.

While stars of Christmas shine,
Lighting the skies,
Let only loving looks,
Beam from our eyes.

While bells of Christmas ring,
Joyous and clear,
Speak only happy words,
All love and cheer.

Give only loving gifts,
And in love take;
Gladden the poor and sad
For love's dear sake.

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world's delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

Matter,
with this look
I wed thee
and become
thy very
attribute.
I shall be
thy faithful
spouse,
true
to thy
nature,
for I love
thee
more than Durer
loved

If you love me, come and be
In my heart of hearts and see
How I think of naught but thee!

If you hate me, tell me so,
I should love you still, I know,—
Hate to love will sometimes grow.

If you neither love nor hate,
For your grace I ne'er will wait;
You will never be my fate!

Music has charms the savage breast to move,
And songs are Syrens that invite to love.