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Destiny, She Walks In Beauty, Symptoms of Love, At First Sight, Although, At Last, To Harriet,


Destiny by Edwin Arnold

Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours
For one lone soul another lonely soul,
Each choosing each through the weary hours
And meeting strangely at one sudden goal.
Then blend they, like green leaves and golden flowers,
Into one beautiful and perfect whole;
And life's long night is ended, and the way
Lies open onward, to eternal day.

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She Walks In Beauty by Lord Byron

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 the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear there dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o're that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell in days of goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below
A heart who's love is innocent!

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Symptoms of Love by Robert Graves

Love is a universal migraine,
A bright stain on the vision
Blotting out reason.

Symptoms of true love
Are leanness, jealousy, laggard dawns;

Are omens and nightmares -
Listening for a knock,
Waiting for a sign:

For a touch of her fingers
In a darkened room,
For a searching look.

Take courage lover!
Could you endure such grief
At any hand but hers?

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At First Sight by Alastair Reid

Should I speak unthinkingly,
rashly, outwardly,
or look, wordlessly?

Move determinedly
or wait expectantly?
She sighs slightly.

I turn anxiously.
She sits quietly,
smiling distantly.

Either lie, passionately,
or not lie, fruitlessly?
I pause, two-mindedly.

To love wishfully,
blindly, entirely,
self-transformingly;

or to stay truthfully
in doubt, wistfully
doomed to reality?

Her face, held beautifully,
looks at me questioningly.
I watch her, wonderingly.

To love recklessly,
harzarding certainty,
losing identity;

or to feel warily-
vows made conditionally,
words weighed carefully?

She looks up suddenly,
her eyes speaking clearly
my thought, completely.

Poised unbelievably,
we touch magically,
and light strikes, blindingly.

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Although by Andrew Tawney

Although we're apart
I'm never really apart from you...
even though distance separates us
and time finds us on our
individual paths.

Every day I sense that
we are together,
in daylight or in dream,
for kindred souls like ours
can never truly separate.

Being apart from you
is something I cannot be...
for you
are a part of me.

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At Last by Elizabeth Akers Allen

At last, when all the summer shine
That warmed life's early hours is past,
Your loving fingers seek for mine
And hold them close--at last--at last!
Not oft the robin comes to build
Its nest upon the leafless bough
By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,--
But you, dear heart, you love me now.

Though there are shadows on my brow
And furrows on my cheek, in truth,--
The marks where Time's remorseless plough
Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,--
Though fled is every girlish grace
Might win or hold a lover's vow,
Despite my sad and faded face,
And darkened heart, you love me now!

I count no more my wasted tears;
They left no echo of their fall;
I mourn no more my lonesome years;
This blessed hour atones for all.
I fear not all that Time or Fate
May bring to burden heart or brow,--
Strong in the love that came so late,
Our souls shall keep it always now!

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To Harriet by Percy Bysshe Shelley

It is not blasphemy to hope that Heaven
More perfectly will give those nameless joys
Which throb within the pulses of the blood
And sweeten all that bitterness which Earth
Infuses in the heaven-born soul. O thou
Whose dear love gleamed upon the gloomy path
Which this lone spirit travelled, drear and cold,
Yet swiftly leading to those awful limits
Which mark the bounds of Time and of the space
When Time shall be no more; wilt thou not turn
Those spirit-beaming eyes and look on me,
Until I be assured that Earth is Heaven,
And Heaven is Earth?ówill not thy glowing cheek,
Glowing with soft suffusion, rest on mine,
And breathe magnetic sweetness through the frame
Of my corporeal nature, through the soul
Now knit with these fine fibres? I would give
The longest and the happiest day that fate
Has marked on my existence but to feel
One soul-reviving kiss . . . O thou most dear,
'Tis an assurance that this Earth is Heaven,
And Heaven the flower of that untainted seed
Which springeth here beneath such love as ours.
Harriet! let death all mortal ties dissolve,
But ours shall not be mortal! The cold hand
Of Time may chill the love of earthly minds
Half frozen now; the frigid intercourse
Of common souls lives but a summer's day;
It dies, where it arose, upon this earth.
But ours! oh, 'tis the stretch of Fancy's hope
To portray its continuance as now,
Warm, tranquil, spirit-healing; nor when age
Has tempered these wild ecstasies, and given
A soberer tinge to the luxurious glow
Which blazing on devotion's pinnacle
Makes virtuous passion supersede the power
Of reason; nor when life's aestival sun
To deeper manhood shall have ripened me;
Nor when some years have added judgement's store
To all thy woman sweetness, all the fire
Which throbs in thine enthusiast heart; not then
Shall holy friendship (for what other name
May love like ours assume?), not even then
Shall Custom so corrupt, or the cold forms
Of this desolate world so harden us,
As when we think of the dear love that binds
Our souls in soft communion, while we know
Each other's thoughts and feelings, can we say
Unblushingly a heartless compliment,
Praise, hate, or love with the unthinking world,
Or dare to cut the unrelaxing nerve
That knits our love to virtue. Can those eyes,
Beaming with mildest radiance on my heart
To purify its purity, e'er bend
To soothe its vice or consecrate its fears?
Never, thou second Self! Is confidence
So vain in virtue that I learn to doubt
The mirror even of Truth? Dark flood of Time,
Roll as it listeth thee; I measure not
By month or moments thy ambiguous course.
Another may stand by me on thy brink,
And watch the bubble whirled beyond his ken,
Which pauses at my feet. The sense of love,
The thirst for action, and the impassioned thought
Prolong my being; if I wake no more,
My life more actual living will contain
Than some gray veteran's of the world's cold school,
Whose listless hours unprofitably roll
By one enthusiast feeling unredeemed,
Virtue and Love! unbending Fortitude,
Freedom, Devotedness and Purity!
That life my Spirit consecrates to you.

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