Love Poems Quotes

Your love for me is like fire

Your love for me is like fire
That consumes my heart in its burning flames
That deep seated desire
Than burns till nothing remains
My heart has always been wild and free
It has always been too difficult to be tamed
Till the moment you came and set me ablaze honey
And now I know that things shall never be the same.

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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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