And Marlowe, Webster, Fletcher, Ben, Whose fire-hearts sowed our furrows when The world was worthy of such men. - Elizabeth Barrett Browning

The cypress stood up like a church
That night we felt our love would hold,
And saintly moonlight seemed to search
And wash the whole world clean as gold;
The olives crystallized the vales'
Broad slopes until the hills grew strong:
The fireflies and the nightingales
Throbbed each to either, flame and song.
The nightingales, the nightingales.

I love you not only for what you are, but for what I am when I am with you.

Pomegranates you may cut deep down the middle and see into, but not hearts, — so why should I try and speak?