Welcome to More I Love You Poems #1

There is a lady sweet and kind,
Was never face so pleas'd my mind,
I did but see her passing by,
And yet I love her till I die.
 

Her gesture, motion and her smiles,
Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,
Beguiles my heart, I know not why,
And yet I love her till I die.
 

Her free behaviour, winning looks,
Will make a lawyer burn his books.
I touch'd her not, alas not I,
And yet I love her till I die.
 

Had I her fast betwixt mine arms,
judge you that think such sports were harms,
Wert any harm? no, no, fie, fie,
For I will love her till I die.
 

Should I remain confined there,
So long as Phoebus in his sphere,
I to request, she to deny,
Yet would I love her till I die.
 

Cupid is winged and doth range,
Her country so my love doth change,
But change she earth, or change she sky,
Yet will I love her till I die.
Anonymous 1607?
 

I say I'm in love with her. What does that mean? It means I review my future and my past in the light of this feeling. It is as though I wrote in a foreign language that I am suddenly able to read. Wordlessly, she explains me to myself. Like a genius, she is ignorant of what she does.
The Passion - Jeanette Winterson
 

I love thee, I love but thee with a love that shall not die till the sun grows cold and the stars grow old.
William Shakespeare
 

One day I wrote her name upon the strand,
But came the waves and washed it away:
Again I wrote it with a second hand,
But came the tide and made my pains his prey.
"Vain man," said she, "that dost in vain essay
A mortal thing so to immortalize;
For I myself shall like to this decay,
And eke my name be wiped out likewise."
"Not so," quoth I; "let baser things devise
To lie in dust, but you shall live by fame;
My verse your virtues rare shall eternize,
And in the heavens write you glorious name:
Where, whenas Death shall all the world subdue,
Our love shall live, and later life renew."
One Day I Wrote Her Name - Edmund Spenser
 

I love thee, as I love the calm
Of sweet, star-lighted hours!
I love thee, as I love the balm
Of early jes’mine flow’rs.
I love thee, as I love the last
Rich smile of fading day,
Which lingereth, like the look we cast,
On rapture pass’d away.
I love thee as I love the tone
Of some soft-breathing flute
Whose soul is wak’d for me alone,
When all beside is mute.
 

I love thee as I love the first
Young violet of the spring;
Or the pale lily, April-nurs’d,
To scented blossoming.
I love thee, as I love the full,
Clear gushings of the song,
Which lonely—sad—and beautiful—
At night-fall floats along,
Pour’d by the bul-bul forth to greet
The hours of rest and dew;
When melody and moonlight meet
To blend their charm, and hue.
I love thee, as the glad bird loves
The freedom of its wing,
On which delightedly it moves
In wildest wandering.