For Each Passionate Exchange Use I Love You Poems

That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.
 

That I shall love alway,
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality.
 

This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.
Emily Dickinson
 

I do not love you--except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
from waiting to not waiting for you my heart moves from the cold into the fire.
Sonnet LXVI - Pablo Neruda
 

My dearest Teresa, I have read this book in your garden;--my love, you were absent, or else I could not have read it.
It is a favourite book of yours, and the writer was a friend of mine. You will not understand these English words, and others will not understand them,--which is the reason I have not scrawled them in Italian.
But you will recognize the handwriting of him who passionately loved you, and you will divine that, over a book, which was yours, he could only think of love.
In that word, beautiful in all languages, but most so in yours--Amor mio--is comprised my existence here and hereafter.
I feel I exist here, and I feel I shall exist hereafter,--to what purpose you will decide; my destiny rests with you, and you are a woman, eighteen years of age, and two out of a convent. I wish that you had staid there, with all my heart,--or, at least, that I had never met you in your married state.
But all this is too late. I love you, and you love me,--at least, you say so, and act as if you did so, which last is a great consolation in all events.
But I more than love you, and cannot cease to love you.
Think of me, sometimes, when the Alps and ocean divide us,--but they never will, unless you wish it.
George, Lord Byron to Teresa Guiccioli - Bologna, 25 August, 1819
 

The crow sat on the willow tree
A-lifting up his wings,
And glossy was his coat to see,
And loud the ploughman sings,
"I love my love because I know
The milkmaid she loves me";
And hoarsely croaked the glossy crow
Upon the willow tree.
"I love my love" the ploughman sung,
And all the fields with music rung.
 

"I love my love, a bonny lass,
She keeps her pails so bright,
And blythe she trips the dewy grass
At morning and at night.
A cotton dress her morning gown,
Her face was rosy health:
She traced the pastures up and down
And nature was her wealth."
He sung, and turned each furrow down,
His sweetheart's love in cotton gown.
 

"My love is young and handsome
As any in the town,
She's worth a ploughman's ransom
In the drab cotton gown."
He sang and turned his furrow oer
And urged his team along,
While on the willow as before
The old crow croaked his song:
The ploughman sung his rustic lay
And sung of Phoebe all the day.
 

The crow he was in love no doubt
And [so were] many things:
The ploughman finished many a bout,
And lustily he sings,
"My love she is a milking maid
With red rosy cheek;
Of cotton drab her gown was made,
I loved her many a week."
His milking maid the ploughman sung
Till all the fields around him rung.
The Crow Sat on the Willow – John Clare
 

If you cannot inspire a woman with love of you, fill her above the brim with love of herself; all that runs over will be yours.
Charles Caleb Colton