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Home of Love | Love Poems


If all the world and love were young,
And truthin every sheperd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be they love.

Tim drives the flocks from field to fold
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold,
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kittle, and thy posies
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten -
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

The belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,
Had joys no date nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move

To live with thee and by thy love.    

Walter Raleigh