Quotes About Longing

The wind blows over the lonely of heart, And the lonely of heart is withered away.

I will find out where she has gone, And kiss her lips and take her hands; And walk among long dappled grass, And pluck till time and times are done The silver apples of the moon The golden apples of the sun.

O bid me mount and sail up there Amid the cloudy wrack, For Peg and Meg and Paris' love That had so straight a back, Are gone away, and some that stay Have changed their silk for sack.

O DO NOT LOVE TOO LONG by: William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) WEETHEART, do not love too long: I loved long and long, And grew to be out of fashion Like an old song. All through the years of our youth Neither could have known Their own thought from the other's, We were so much at one. But O, in a minute she changed-- O do not love too long, Or you will grow out of fashion Like an old song.

For that pale breast and lingering hand Come from a more dream-heavy land, A more dream-heavy hour than this; And when you sigh from kiss to kiss I hear white Beauty sighing, too, For hours when all must fade like dew.

For he would be thinking of love Till the stars had run away And the shadows eaten the moon.

I'll love you, dear, I'll love you Till China and Africa meet, And the river jumps over the mountain And the salmon sing in the street

How should we like it were stars to burn With a passion for us we could not return? If equal affection cannot be, Let the more loving one be me.

Desire, even in its wildest tantrums, can neither persuade me it is love nor stop me from wishing it were.

The Three Wiseman: The weather has been awful, The countryside is dreary, Marsh, jungle, rock; and echoes mock, Calling our hope unlawful; But a silly song can help along Yours ever and sincerely: At least we know for certain that we are three old sinners, that this journey is much too long, that we want our dinners, and miss our wives, our books, our dogs, but have only the vaguest idea why we are what we are. To discover how to be human now Is the reason we follow this star.

For the error bred in the bone of each woman and each man craves what it cannot have, not universal love but to be loved alone.

What mad Nijinsky wrote/ About Diaghilev/ Is true of the normal heart;/ For the error bred in the bone/ Of each woman and each man/ Craves what it cannot have, Not universal love/ But to be loved alone.

What living occasion can, Be just to the absent?

The years shall run like rabbits, For in my arms I hold The Flower of the Ages, And the first love of the world.

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

He still loves life But O O O O how he wishes The good Lord would take him.

There head falls forward, fatigued at evening, And dreams of home...

Because I love you more than I can say, If I could tell you I would let you know.

Suffering does not only insulate. It drops its victim in an ocean desert where he sees men as distant ships passing. I not only feel alone, but very far away from you all.

I have no way of telling what I miss I am the only one who misses it

I look for you my curl of sleep my breathing wave on the night shore my star in the fog of morning I think you can always find me I call to you under my breath I whisper to you through the hours all your names my ear of shadow I think you can always hear me I wait for you my promised day my time again my homecoming my being where you wait for me I think always of you waiting

apparently we believe in the words and through them but we long beyond them for what is unseen what remains out of reach what is kept covered

Seperation Your absence has gone trough me like thread trough a needle. Everything I do is stiched with it's color.

my love was always woven with leaving