By all love's soft, yet mighty powers,It is a thing unfit,That men should fuck in time of flowers,Or when the smock's beshit.Fair nasty nymph, be clean and kind,And all my joys restore;By using paper still behind,And sponges for before.My spotless flames can ne'er decay,If after every close,My smoking prick escape the fray,Without a bloody nose.If thou would have me true, be wise,And take to
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- Sonnet 147: My love is as a fever, longing still
- Sonnet 148: O me! what eyes hath love put in my head
- Sonnet 149: Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not
- Sonnet 151: Love is too young to know what conscience is
- Sonnet 154: The little Love-god lying once asleep
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- Sonnet 27: My own Beloved, who hast lifted me
- Sonnet 11: And therefore if to love can be desert
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- Twas Love -- not me, poem by Emily Dickinson
- Because He loves Her, by Emily Dickinson
- And because Love battles, poem by Pablo Neruda
- The Life of Love XVI
- Song: The Charms of Lovely Davies
- Friendship After Love
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