Quotes About Love

Oh, come forth into the storm and rout And be my love in the rain.

Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

Come over the hills and far with me And be my love in the rain.

You've got to love what's lovable, and hate what's hateable. It takes brains to see the difference.

My sorrow, when she's here with me, thinks these dark days of autumn rain are beautiful as days can be; she loves the bare, the withered tree; she walks the sodden pasture lane.

You, of course, are a rose-- But were always a rose.

A poet never takes notes..you never take notes in a Love Affair.

What is done is done for the love of it- or not really done at all.

Earth's the right place for love. I don't know where it's likely to go better.

Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes Is the deed ever truly done For Heaven and the future's sakes

The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain.

Two such as you with such a master speed Cannot be parted nor be swept away From one another once you are agreed That life is only life forevermore Together wing to wing and oar to oar

There never was any heart truly great and generous, that was not also tender and compassionate.

I end not far from my going forth By picking the faded blue Of the last remaining aster flower To carry again to you.

But yield who will their separation, My object in living is to unite My avocation and my vocation As my two eyes make one in sight. Only where love and need are one, And the work is play for mortal stakes, Is the deed ever really done For Heaven and the future's sakes.

Two such as you with such a master speed Cannot be parted nor be swept away

I had A Lover's Quarrel With The World.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still, No longer blown hither and thither; The last lone aster is gone; The flowers of the witch hazel wither; The heart is still aching to seek, But the feet question 'Whither?' Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?

Lovers, forget your love, And list the love of these, She a window flower, And he a winter breeze.

The realist always falls in love with a girl he has grown up with, the romanticist with a girl from 'off somewhere.

You don't have to deserve your mother's love. You have to deserve your father's.

If I can with confidence say That still for another day, Or even another year, I will be there for you, my dear, It will be because, though small As measured against the All, I have been so instinctively thorough About my crevice and burrow.

Come, be my love in the wet woods, come, Where the boughs rain when it blows.

For this is love and nothing else is love, The which it is reserved for God above To sanctify to what far ends He will, But which it only needs that we fulfil.