LOVE
Love has a tide!
| author = Helen Hunt Jackson
| work = Tides
| topic = Love
| page = 471
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num = 2
| text = <poem>When love is at its best, one loves-
So much that he cannot forget.
Love's like the flies, and, drawing-room or garret, goes all over a house.
Douglas Jebkold—Jerrold's Wit. Love.
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| topic = Love
| page = 471
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{{Hoyt quote
| num = 1
| text = Greater love hath no man than this, that a
man lay down his life for his friends.
John. XV. 13.
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| topic = Love
| page = 471
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{{Hoyt quote
| num = 5
| text = There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.
Uohn. IV. 18.
Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust.
Keats—Lamia. Pt. II.
I wish you could invent some means to make
me at all happy without you. Every hour I am
more and more concentrated in you; everything
else tastes like chaff in my mouth.
Keats—Letters. No. XXXVII.
When late I attempted your pity to move,
Why seemed you so deaf to my prayers?
Perhaps it was right to dissemb'e your love
But—why did you kick me downstairs?
J. P. Kemble—Panel. Act I. Sc. 1. Quoted
from Asylum for Fugitive Pieces. Vol. I. P.
15. (1785) where it appeared anonymously.
Kemble is credited with its authorship.
The Panel, is adapted from Bickerstaff's
'Tis Well 'Tis No Worse, but these lines are
nottherein. It may also be foundin A rareuai
Register. Appendix. (1783) P. 201.
• • What's this dull town to me?
Robin's not near—
He whom I wished to see,
Wished for to hear;
Where's all the joy and mirth
Made life a heaven on earth?
O! they're all fled with thee,
Robin Adair.
Caroline Keppel—Robin Adair.
The heart of a man to the heart of a maid—
Light of my tents, be fleet—
Morning awaits at the end of the world,
And the world is all at our feet.
Kipling—Gypsy Trail.
The white moth to the closing vine,
The bee to the open clover,
And the Gypsy blood to the Gypsy blood
Ever the wide world over.
Kipling—Gypsy Trail.
The wild hawk to the wind-swept sky
The deer to the wholesome wold;
And the heart of a man to the heart of a maid,
As it was in the days of old.
Kipling—Gypsy Trail.
The hawk unto the open sky,
The red deer to the wold;
The Romany lass for the Romany lad,
As in the days of old.
Given in the N. Y. Times Review of Books as
a previously written poem by F. C. Weathekby. Not found.
| seealso = (See also Theocritus under Song)
u
Sing, for faith and hope are high—
None so true as you and I—
Sing the Lovers' Litany:
"Love like ours can never die!"
Kipling—Lovers Litany.
By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' eastward
to the sea,
There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she
thinks o' me;
For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say:
"Come you back, you British soldier; come you
back to Mandalay!"
Kipling—Mandalay.
| seealso = (See also Hayes under Gods)
| topic = Love
| page = 471
}}
{{Hoyt quote
| num =
| text = <poem>If Love were jester at the court of Death,
And Death the king of all, still would I pray,
"For me the motley and the bauble, yea,
Though all be vanity, as the Preacher saith,
The mirth of love be mine for one brief breath!"
Fhedehic L. Knowles—If Love were Jester
at the Court of Death.
Love begins with love.
La Bruyère—The Characters and Manners of the Present Age. Ch. IV.
Le commencement et le declin de l'amour se
font sentir par l'embarras ou Ton est de se trouver seuls.
The beginning and the end of love are both
marked by embarrassment when the two find
themselves alone.
La Bruyère—Les Caractères. IV.
Amour! Amour! quand tu nous tiens
On peut bien dire, Adieu, prudence.
O tyrant love, when held by you,
We may to prudence bid adieu.
La Fontaine—Fables. IV. 1.
The pleasure of love is in loving. We are happier in the passion we feel than in what we excite.
La Rochefoucauld—Maxims. 78.
The more we love a mistress, the nearer we are
to hating her.
La Rochefoucauld—Maxims. 114.
Ce qui fait que amants et les maitresses ne
s'ennuient point d'etre ensemble; c'est qu'ils parlent toujours d'eux mimes.
The reason why lovers and their mistresses
never tire of being together is that they are
always talking of themselves.
La Rochefoucauld—Maximes. 312.
