Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense.

Love is much like a wild rose, beautiful and calm, but willing to draw blood in its defense.

My heart that was rapt away by the wild cherry blossoms -- will it return to my body when they read more

My heart that was rapt away by the wild cherry blossoms -- will it return to my body when they scatter?

Exceeding fair she was not; and yet fair
In that she never studied to be fairer
Than read more

Exceeding fair she was not; and yet fair
In that she never studied to be fairer
Than Nature made her; her beauty cost her nothing,
Her virtues were so rare.

Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it's made you conceited.

Just because you're beautiful and perfect, it's made you conceited.

I would warn you that I do not attribute to nature either beauty or deformity, order or confusion. Only in read more

I would warn you that I do not attribute to nature either beauty or deformity, order or confusion. Only in relation to our imagination can things be called beautiful or ugly, well-ordered or confused.

The beautiful are never desolate;
But some one alway loves them--God or man.
If man abandons, God read more

The beautiful are never desolate;
But some one alway loves them--God or man.
If man abandons, God himself takes them.

Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!
For me her constant flame appears;
The garland she hath read more

Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!
For me her constant flame appears;
The garland she hath culled, I wear
On brows bald since my thirty years.
Ye veils that deck my loved one rare,
Fall, for the crowning triumph's nigh.
Ye Gods! but she is wondrous fair!
And I, so plain a man am I!

When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind!

When beauty fires the blood, how love exalts the mind!

The ladies of St. James's!
They're painted to the eyes;
Their white is stays for ever,
read more

The ladies of St. James's!
They're painted to the eyes;
Their white is stays for ever,
Their red it never dies;
But Phyllida, my Phillida!
Her colour comes and goes;
It trembles to a lily,--
It wavers to a rose.