Poems found in a young girl’s journal, recopied multiple times, from many different sources. None of this work is mine but all of these pieces started my journey of writing.
When daylight shuts her eyes and the sky is fast asleep,
The moon comes up with half a face and the stars put holes in the night.
To be yourself is to be alone with the wind crying when all that you ask for is a human fire.
Spirit comes alive, when we are made alive by love.
I am two fools, I know, for loving and for saying so.
The course of true love never did run smooth.
There is more pleasure in loving than in being loved.
Through love one creates his own personality and helps others create theirs.
Where else could I see him, if not in a dream?
Him that I love, I wish to be free, even from me.
An what man is that miss?
The one I have created in my mind. The sort of man each woman dreams of in the deepest most secret beaches of her heart. I can almost see him now before me. What would I say to him, if he were really here? Forgive me, I’ve never know this feeling. I’ve lived without it all my life. Is it any wonder than I failed to recognize you? You brought it to me for the first time. Is there any way that, that I can tell you how my life is changed? Any way at all to let you know what sweetness you have given me? There is so much to say I, I can not find the words. Except for these, I love you. And that’s what I say to him if he were really here.
It is not customary to love what one has.
Love is, above all, the gift of oneself.
Love knows hidden paths
Oh, I have loved him too much to feel no hate for him
Love like ours can never die
Whoso loves believes the impossible
Take of me what is not my own, my love, my beauty and my poem
Just a little violet from across the way came to cheer a prisoner in his cell one day.
Just a little flower sent by loving hand as a kindly meaning that true hearts understand.
Just a little violet plucked with tender care, God has smiled upon it and the sender fair.
And soon that little token wrapped in hands so neat lies quietly within the grave of which a heart is true does beat.
When you love someone all your saved-up wishes start coming out.
A broken heart is a monument to a love that will never die.
The love we give away is the only love we keep
To be in love is to touch things with a lighter hand
I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you
Somebody loves me; how do I know? Somebody’s eyes have told me so.
But of all pains, the greatest pain. It is to love, but love in vain.
When the last eagle flies over the last crumbling mountain and the last lion roars at the last dusty fountain. In the shadow of the forest, though she may be old and warn, they will stare, unbelieving, at the last unicorn.
When the first break of winter through the flowers are icing. And you look to the north and a pale moon is rising. And it seems like all is dying and would leave the world to mourn. In the distance, hear the laughter of the last unicorn.
I’m alive. I’m alive.
When the last moon is cast over the last star of morning and the future is past without even a last desperate warning then looking to the sky where through the clouds are passing sworn look and see her, how she sparkles, it’s the last unicorn.
I’m alive. I’m alive.
Drink to me only with thine eyes, and I will pledge with mine.
Love is all we have, the only way that each can help the other.
My dear friend-the touch of you love is a gift I will never forget
“You must save this hawk”, he said. “For she is my life, my last, and best reason for living”. And then he said, “one say we will know such happiness, as two people dream of, but never do”.
…we loved with a love that was more than love…
I was nothing to him and he was the world to me
If we spend out lives in loving, we have o leisure to complain or to feel unhappiness.
Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?
A pair of star-cross’d lovers
They love too much that die for love
And what am I, that I should love so wisely and so well?
You become responsible for what you have loved
Our lives are shaped by those who love us-by those who refuse to love us.
Pains of love be sweeter for than all other pleasures are
My true love hat my heart and I have his