Love me little, love me long

[Robert Herrick | 1591–1674]

YOU say, to me-wards your affection’s strong;
Pray love me little, so you love me long.
Slowly goes far: the mean is best: desire,
Grown violent, does either die or tire.

||

Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song:
Love that is too hot and strong
Burneth soon to waste.
I am with little well content,
And a little from thee sent
Is enough, with true intent,
To be steadfast friend.
Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.

Say thou lov’st me while thou live,
I to thee my love will give,
Never dreaming to deceive
While that life endures:
Nay, and after death in sooth,
I to thee will keep my truth,
As now when in my May of youth,
This my love assures.
Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.

Constant love is moderate ever,
And it will through life persever,
Give to me that with true endeavor.
I will it restore:
A suit of durance let it be,
For all weathers, that for me,
For the land or for the sea,
Lasting evermore.

Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.

Of Love: A Sonnet

How love came in I do not know,
Whether by the eye, or ear, or no;
Or whether with the soul it came
(At first) infused with the same;
Whether in part ’tis here or there,
Or, like the soul, whole everywhere,
This troubles me: but I as well
As any other this can tell:
That when from hence she does depart
The outlet then is from the heart.

Robert Herrick (1591-1674) was an English poet best known for Hesperides: Or, The Works Both Humane & Divine (1648), a book of poems. This includes the carpe diem poem “To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time.”

To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles today
To-morrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he’s a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he’s to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, while ye may, go marry:
For having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

^ In the genre of carpe diem

Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May, by John William Waterhouse
‘Gather Ye Rosebuds While Ye May’ by British Pre-Raphaelite artist, John William Waterhouse (1909).

✍🏻 Abandonment

❝regrets do crush me flat❞

Why?
Before & After the split.

Sunlit I

Me and you were a real life fantasy
You and I were the destiny I’d dreamed
In you and your soul I found ecstasy
In your deep eyes and open mind I beamed.

I read it said that love can truly kill
This sounds far-fetched but I’ll tell you it’s not.
Since being forsaken I’ve been so ill
This ain’t hype, I’m tied in an awful knot.

Forsaken by you, abandoned at sea
Pushed to yesterday, by your doubting mind?
Thrown to history, I’m trapped, not free
Dumped in the basket, due to a new bind?

All’s not lost for after all, you’re alive,
in this cell, I etch: “Our love will revive!”

— Sensitive Soul to Secret Sharer


The moment’s monument

( 4, 4, 4, 2 IV–IV–IV–II )

✍🏻 Remorse

it’s really relentless

Remorse -- red-eyed
Bloodied knuckles & a cowardly lover’s letter, expressing his departing…

  Red-eyed and deadened heart
  endless regret and emptiness
  my time with you was divinity defined
  oh for the past: our perfect partnership
  resting on one another after amore
  searching each other’s open books
  everything was to look forward to


I'm sorry
I’m so deeply sorry
I'm so deeply sorry
I’m so truly sorry
I'm so truly sorry
I’m so sincerely sorry
I'm so sincerely sorry
I’m so totally and wholeheartedly sorry
I'm so totally and wholeheartedly  sorry
I regret my stupidity.
I regret my stupidity.
I’m more sorry than ever before.

Sonnet LXXIII

The remains of the day…

That time of year thou mayst in me behold
When yellow leaves, or none, or few do hang
Upon those boughs which shake against the cold
Bare ruined choirs where late the sweet birds sang.

In me thou seest the twilight of such day
As after sunset fadeth in the west,
Which by and by black night doth steal away,
Death’s second self, which seals up all in rest.

In me thou seest the glowing of such fire
That on the ashes of his youth doth lie,
As the deathbed whereon it must expire,
Consumed with that which it was nourished by.

This thou perceiv’st, which makes thy love more strong,
To love that well which thou must leave ere long.

— William Shakespeare
     English poet

73--01
“Listen to me!” (W&T)

The juice of ((it)) on sleeping eyelids laid
Will make or man or woman madly dote
Upon the next live creature that it sees.
Fetch me this herb, and be thou here again
Ere the leviathan can swim a league

^ ((it)) being a magical flower,’Cupid’s Flower,’ referenced in A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Usage of such a potion is not my style; they need to actually want me, forced love is fucking false love. And the ‘make or man or woman’ bit is odd ain’t it, but that is what was wrote (supposedly so).

73--03
Fantasy – “You’re dreaming darlin'”

In this regard, the context of fairytale, see: Charles Perrault


As lonely as a fucking one-trick pony; yeah this is me now, this has been me since my well deserved abandonment; I did not show the appreciation that I should have; I didn’t know how to show true love to my priceless Gulf pearl…

73--04
I’ll hold my tongue

✍🏻 I am so very sorry 😐

for the way I behaved with you

  More than words can express
   More than ever ever before
  —
   I so sincerely apologise
   I do so regret my wrongs
  —
   To think that our past times are now dark in your mind cuts me into 1,001 pieces
  —
   Heaven became Hell
   Paradise turned to Purgatory
   Luscious Light > Moonless Night.