Love Poems Quotes

My love is like a sweet symphony

My love for you is like a sweet symphony,
The melody is in the beating of our hearts.
The day that I first met you, a voice spoke from deep inside
It told me that I had finally found someone
Whom I could love all my life.
And since that day we have been together partners in everything
You are where my morning starts, where all the days begin.
You have given me everything that one could ask for,
And for that, I am yours.
So this little poem is but a token,
Of a love that is so much more.

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I love you and you know it

I love you, and you know that’s true.
No truer three words were ever known.
You have been the music of every song
That my heart has ever sung strong.
Our love is like a fairytale
Where there is a happily ever after.
With you, I know that I can never fail,
And with you by my side, I couldn’t ask for more

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My heart speeds with joy

When the two of us make love to each other
My heart speeds with joy
Racing to infinity with such pleasure
For it has found that one true treasure
You know just how to make my insides race
For your rhythm is absolute perfection in pace
I’m enchanted by the way you look
By your magnificent body and your face
It’s like our bodies though two have been entwined together in one
It is for sure the most perfect time and place
You my lover shall forever be
The only one for me for all eternity
For no one else can ever compare
To the way you are and all I can do is stop and stare
My love for you grows leaps and bound
With every minute that I spend with you around.

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By the light of the moon

So, we’ll go no more a roving
So late into the night,
Though the heart be still as loving,
And the moon be still as bright.

For the sword outwears its sheath,
And the soul wears out the breast,
And the hearth must pause to breathe,
And love itself have rest.

Though the night was made for loving,
And the days return too soon,
Yet we’ll go no more a roving
By the light of the moon.

– Lord Byron

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Take all my love

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all;
What hast thou then more than thou hadst before?
No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call;
All mine was thine before thou hadst this more.
Then if for my love thou my love receivest,
I cannot blame thee for my love thou usest;
But yet be blamed, if thou thyself deceivest
By wilful taste of what thyself refusest.
I do forgive thy robbery, gentle thief,
Although thou steal thee all my poverty;
And yet, love knows, it is a greater grief
To bear love’s wrong than hate’s known injury.
Lascivious grace, in whom all ill well shows,
Kill me with spites; yet we must not be foes.

– Shakespeare

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