"I have been used to consider poetry as the food of love," said Darcy.
"Of a fine, stout, healthy love it may. Every thing nourishes what is strong already. But if it be only a slight, thin sort of inclination, I am convinced that one good sonnet will starve it entirely away."
— Pride and Prejudice, chapter ix
There is some wisdom in Elizabeth Bennet's words about poetry and love, but being the romantic sort that I am, I could hardly resist posting a few stanzas of a more sentimental nature today in honor of yesterday's holiday.
A Red, Red Rose
By Robert Burns
O my luve's like a red, red rose.
That's newly sprung in June;
O my luve's like a melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune.
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will love thee still, my Dear,
Till a'the seas gang dry.
Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun:
I will luve thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o'life shall run.
And fare thee weel my only Luve!
And fare thee weel a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile!
May your evening be blessed!