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She walks in beauty, like the night
of cloudless climes and starry skies:
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired than nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tree,
or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, get eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.
Lord Byron
We speak, but the words we say mean nothing.
We smile, but the smiles we give are wanting.
We look upon each other's eyes,
no spark, no glow, no real size.
But we both know this is all for a show
until that sometime, somewhere.
We could show the world we have each other.
Sometime, somewhere we need not hide our feelings
We just keep on believing that we both have the time together
Sometime, somewhere our lips would be free at last
To say the words we've hungered to say
And we won't have to worry,
we have cast our fears aside
Sometimes that sometimes
will turn to forever, for all time
Somewhere our somewhere would not just be
the place but everywhere until that
Sometime, somewhere we just have to be content
with standing glances
Somehow content with saying nothing,
smiles that are always wanting
Though deep inside it hurts because we know that our love
like love is what it is, it's what we've got
Our love like love will have to wait until
Sometime, Somewhere.
Somewhere I have never
traveled,
gladly beyond any experience,
your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture
are things which enclose me,
or which I cannot touch
because they are too near
you slightest look easily will unclose me
though I have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal
myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,
I and my life will shut very beautifully,
suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending:
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility:
whose texture compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
Nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
E. E. Cummings
Somewhere in time
We met on a timeless hill
And in the evening mist
We kissed and time stood still
Before the dawn we found forever
Moments are timeless when I feel your caress
Love never goes once it has touched your heart
Just like a scent of wine that's left as your lips part
The taste of love will linger after
I find the meaning now in all that I see
You're always here inside of me
And I know when love is true
It's always with you
Somewhere in time I came to realize
Love never goes...
She is not fair to outward view
As many maidens be,
Her loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me;
O, then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light!
But now her looks are coy and cold,
To mine they ne’er reply,
And yet I cease not to behold
The love-light in her eye:
Her very frowns are fairer far
Than smiles of other maidens are
Hartley Coleridge
 You
say you love; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
The soft Vespers to herself
While the chime-bell ringeth—
O love me truly!
You say you love; but with a smile
Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid's nun,
And kept his weeks of Ember.
O love me truly!
You say you love,—but then your lips
Coral tinted teach no blisses,
More than coral in the sea—
They never pout for kisses—
O love me truly!
You say you love; but then your hand
No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,
It is, like a statue's, dead,
While mine to passion burneth—
O love me truly!
O breathe a word or two of fire!
Smile, as if those words should burn me.
Squeeze as lovers should—O kiss
And in thy heart inurn me!
O love me truly!
by John
Keats
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