67 quotes
Oh, all
Know love is woman's happiness.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own,
But only to the spring and summer known.
The Troubadour (1825)
Oh, the heart
Knows not the power of music till it loves !
Thou shalt bid thy fair hands rove
O'er thy soft lute's silver slumbers,
Waking sounds; of song and love
In their sweet Italian numbers.
As steals the dew along the flower,
So stole thy smile on me ;
I cannot tell the day, nor hour
I first loved thee !
Ah, Woman has no look so sweet
As that, when, half afraid to meet
The look she loves, blushes betray
All the suppressed glance would say.
— a poet's love
Is immortality!
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Well may storm be on the sky,
And the waters roll on high,
When MANMADIN passes by.
Earth below and heaven above
Well may bend to thee, oh Love!
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Ah! never is that cherished face
Banished from its accustomed place—
It shines upon my weariest night
It leads me on in thickest fight:
All that seems most opposed to be
Is yet associate with thee—
Together life and thee depart,
Dream—idol—treasure of my heart.
Pattern love-letter — "I — I — I — you — you — you ; you — you — you — I — I — I," garnished with loves and doves ad libitum.
—for earth were too like heaven,
If length of life to love were given.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Love is divine in our belief
Of its eternity — how vain,
When we have known that Love can die,
To think that he can live again !
But Love's bright fount is never pure;
And all his pilgrims must endure
All passion's mighty suffering
Ere they may reach the blessed spring.
The Improvisatrice (1824)
Alas! she looked but in that eye
Where now was writ her destiny.
The heart love leaves looks back ever;
The heart where he is dwelling, never.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
I know not which is the most fatal gift,
Genius or Love, for both alike are ruled
By stars of bright aspect and evil influence.
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
To know yourself less beloved than you love, is a dreadful feeling
We step not over the threshold of childhood till led by Love
Heath's book of Beauty, 1833 (1832)
Oh, nothing has the memory of love!
The Vow of the Peacock (1835)
Do any thing but love ; or if thou lovest
And art a Woman, hide thy love from him
Who thou dost worship ; never let him know
How dear he is ; flit like a bird before him, —
Lead him from tree to tree, from flower to flower ;
But be not won, or thou wilt, like that bird,
When caught and caged, be left to pine neglected,
And perish in forgetfulness.
It was no fancy, he had named the name
Of love, and at that thought her cheek grew flame
The Troubadour (1825)