Oh! little loveliest lady mine,What shall I send for your
valentine?Summer and flowers are far away;Gloomy old Winter is king to-day;Buds will not blow, and sun
will not shine: What shall I do for a valentine?I ’ve searched the gardens all through and throughFor a
bud to tell of my love so true;But buds are asleep, and blossoms are dead And the snow beats down on my
poor little head.
Love is as much of an object as an obsession, everybody wants it, everybody
seeks it, but few ever achieve it, those who do will cherish it, be lost in it, and among all, never...
never forget it.
When love beckons to you follow him,Though his ways are hard and steep.And when
his wings enfold you yield to him,Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.And when he
speaks to you believe in him,Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the
garden.
Love transforms; it simultaneously makes us larger and limits and limits our
possibilities. It changes our history even as it breaks a new path through the present.
