Quote by Plato

Love is the poetry of the senses.

If I were a rose, love, a great red-hearted rose, love,
Blushing on my stem, as roses do,
After tedious, sad delays,
In the first, warm summer days,
I would sweeten life for you.

I love thee freely, as men strive for right. I love thee purely, as they turn from praise. I love thee with the passion put to use In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

All lovely things will have an ending. All lovely things will fade and die; and youth, that's now so bravely spending, will beg a penny by and by.

It's time to make love, douse the glim. The fireflies twinkle and dim; The stars lean together, like birds of a feather, and the loin lies down with the limb.

Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet.

Your sweet laugh, wanders through my mind, trampling whispers, for my heart to find.

I have seen your dark nights and your brightest days and I will be here with you forever waiting in your dusk.