Artist Unknown
so lovely in the starry night,
and as you look upon it's beauty,
suspended there in splendor,
Consider all the lovers in the world,
how they watch in awe and wonder.
How they kiss and dream of forever
and how they will always be together.
The moon has power.
It controls the oceans and the tides,
can it not control the lovers heart?
True love will never ever part.
Love and moonlight go together.
Moon and sun, are they not companions?
Can earth survive without them?
As are we my love, always and forever.
Fire of sun, cool of moon ~
We always seem to ponder,
Like fire and snow ~ opposite,
is this not the way we are I wonder?
Yet, we shall always stay together.
Moon, sun, earth, and love.
If it is true love, it is forever ~
As the moon reflects the sun,
We reflect our love for each other.
My love, let us also forever
consider our love a treasure.
hanging there in the early evening
sky, a moon so low in the
sky glowing orange as it rises.
Nothing makes me feel more at peace.
Unless, perhaps this moon hanging over the
ocean ~ looking like a golden
ball, just there for me see.
To share these moments with you,
my love, are even more precious.
To share in this beauty we behold,
as we sit quietly together.
This early evening sky, such beauty to
behold. I think of many things,
as I gaze upon it's splendor.
Most of all, I rest, knowing our
love is forever.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
like the converged lights upon a mirror, it reflects itself
with redoubled brightness. It is not perfected until it is shared.
"Jane Porter"
Poems |
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