The Summer's sunset throws a tender spell,
Along the hills, o'er ocean's softened swell;
The God of day goes flaming down the sky,
And zephyr floats on perfumed pinions by.
Oh! who can gaze upon this gorgeous sight,
Nor feel his bosom chain'd by deep delight,
This hour when beauty wears her richest dye,
And love o'erflows charmed ocean, earth and sky;
Till fancy, dreaming in her lovely bower,
Hears far off strains of deep, o'erwhelming power,
And, lifting up her pensive orbs above,
Spies Angels winging through yon vault of love,

Kate-a-Whimsies, John-a-Dreams,
Still debating, still delay,
And the world's a ghost that gleams -
Wavers--vanishes away!

We must live while live we can;
We should love while love we may.
Dread in women, doubt in man . . .
So the Infinite runs away.

The twilight fleeted away in pearl on the stream,
And night, like a diamond dome, stood still in our dream.
Your eyes like burnished stones or as stars were bright
With the sudden vision that made us one with the night.

We loved in infinite spaces, forgetting here
The breasts that were lit with life and the lips so near;
Till the wizard willows waved in the wind and drew
Me away from the fulness of love and down to you.

Our love was so vast that it filled the heavens up:
But the soft white form I held was an empty cup,

The level sands and grey,
Stretch leagues and leagues away,
Down to the border line of sky and foam,
A spark of sunset burns,
The grey tide-water turns,
Back, like a ghost from her forbidden home!

Here, without pyre or bier,
Light Love was buried here,
Alas, his grave was wide and deep enough,
Thrice, with averted head,
We cast dust on the dead,
And left him to his rest. An end of Love.

"No stone to roll away,
No seal of snow or clay,
Only soft dust above his wearied eyes,
But though the sudden sound
Of Doom should shake the ground,

Of woman was I born, and man I am.
I come to teach the greatest, yet the most meek
Of all true lessons which man e'er can learn--
God's man was made to love, and nought to hate,
Except the Ill which God and angels hate.
Oh! this grand lore hath fallen on my heart
Like smiling sunlight on a gloomy ocean.
Oft have I heard and felt great throbs of love
Vibrating through the universe of worlds,
Through every grain of matter, through the hearts
That live and swarm beneath the eye of God.
Oft standing mid the holy calm of night,

Oh! he was a student of mystic lore;
And she was a soulful girl
All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind
The paragon, pride, and pearl.

They loved with a neo-Concordic love,
Woofed weirdly with wistful woe.
They sat in a glen, remote from men,
Their converse was high and low.

"What marvellous words of marvellous love,
Speak marvellous souls like these?"
I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh
Was heard with the greatest ease.

"'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he;
"'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?"

O, gather me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And winter waits behind it!

For with the dream foregone, foregone,
The deed forborne for ever,
The worm, regret, will canker on,
And Time will turn him never.

So well it were to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us and above,
The dark before and after.

The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes,
The memories that follow!

"Love is a many splendid thing."
that's what someone said,
but don't ask me who.

Love is different things
for different people,

but for me,
love is about
being there
for someone special,
and about them
being there for me too.

I love my Mum & Dad,
and yes, my brother too,
and all his family,
and all my other relatives,

all my close friends,
and the other ones too,
who I only see now and then,

I love Annie on 2XX,
who I've never even met,
who just talks away
to me on the radio,
happy as can be,

Love is:
walking through the park
holding hands,
kissing,
cuddling,
hugging,
great sex.

No that's just a fantasy.
But it's a great fantasy
of mine,
and one that doesn't
impose any stereotypes on anyone.

So I'll hang onto it.

We would like to suggest that you try reading this poem backwards,
line by line.

Here I sit,
on my bus,
seated behind
a vision divine.

She is young
and beautiful.
But mostly she is
a nubile,
young thing.

She looks
a little tired,
but young at heart.

She sneezes.
Will I say
" Bless you" ?
Perhaps not.

Oh, I pine for
the days when
she may have been mine.

She is truly
a vision of
loveliness, divine.