pink weddings magazine » 45
The words of love
Poetry
Stuck for the right words to set the mood at your reception?
Don’t panic! Let our helpful page of timeless love poetry be your guide...
WE TWO BOYS TOGETHER CLINGING
We two boys together clinging,
One the other never leaving,
Up and down the roads going North and South
excursions making,
Power enjoying, elbows stretching, fngers
clutching,
Arm’d and fearless, eating, drinking, sleeping,
loving,
No law less than ourselves owning, sailing,
soldiering, thieving, threatening,
Misers, menials, priests alarming, air breathing,
water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach
dancing,
Cities wrenching, ease scorning, statutes
mocking, feebleness chasing,
Fulflling our foray.
Walt Whitman
HER BREAST IS FIT FOR PEARLS
Her breast is ft for pearls,
But I was not a ‘Diver’ –
Her brow is ft for thrones
But I have not a crest.
Her heart is ft for home –
I – a Sparrow – build there
Sweet of twigs and twine
My perennial nest.
Emily Dickinson
TO BE ONEWITH EACH OTHER
What greater thing is there for two human souls
than to feel that they are joined together to strengthen
each other in all labour, to minister to each other in all sorrow,
to share with each other in all gladness,
to be one with each other in the
silent unspoken memories?
George Eliot
FROM GOBLIN MARKET
Golden head by golden head,
Like two pigeons in one nest
Folded in each other's wings,
Tey lay down in their curtained bed:
Like two blossoms on one stem,
Like two fakes of new-fall’n snow,
Like two wands of ivory
Tipped with gold for awful kings.
Moon and stars gazed in at them,
Wind sang to them lullaby,
Lumbering owls forbore to fy,
Not a bat fapped to and fro
Round their rest:
Cheek to cheek and breast to breast
Locked together in one nest.
Christina Rossetti
FROM CAPTAIN CORELLI'S MANDOLIN
Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like
volcanoes and then subsides. And when it
subsides you have to make a decision. You have
to work out whether your roots have so
entwined together that it is inconceivable that
you should ever part. Because this is what love is.
Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it
is not the promulgation of promises of eternal
passion... Tat is just being in love, which any fool
can do. Love itself is what is lef over when being
in love has burned away, and this is both an art
and a fortunate accident. Tose that truly love
have roots that grow towards each other
underground, and when all the prety blossoms
have fallen from their branches, they fnd that
they are one tree and not two.
Louis de Bernières