What could equal the bliss? / The thrill of the first kiss / It'll blow right to you / It's never as good as the first time.
I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved.
I know no joy as great as a moment of rushing into a new love, no ecstasy like that of a new love.
Oh Constance, we are so happy.
Another flashing chance at bliss Another kiss, another kiss
Now I believe that lovers should be draped in flowers and laid entwined together on a bed of clover and left there to sleep, left there to dream of their happiness.
Paradise is always where love dwells.
It was so nice just to live in the moment, to enjoy holding him so closely, to pretend for a little while that they were merely two young people in love and nothing else.
Love is a taste of paradise.
Love is such a simple thing when we have only one-and-twenty summers and a sweet girl of seventeen trembles under our glance, as if she were a bud first opening her heart with wondering rapture to the morning. Such young unfurrowed souls roll to meet each other like two velvet peaches that touch softly and are at rest; they mingle as easily as two brooklets that ask for nothing but to entwine themselves and ripple with ever-interlacing curves in the leafiest hiding-places.
To love all ages yield surrender; But to the young it's raptures bring A blessing bountiful and tender- As storms refresh the fields of spring.
Just go on dancing with me like this forever and I'll never tire. We'll scrape our shoe on the stars and hang upside down from the moon.
When I'm lying wrapped up in your arms, the whole world just fades away. The only thing I hear is the beating of your heart.
Here come the lovers, full of joy and mirth.— Joy, gentle friends! joy and fresh days of love Accompany your hearts!
Days are like years in the love of the young, when no bar, no obstacle, is between their hearts,--when the sun shines, and the course runs smooth--when their love is prosperous and confessed.
Your kisses lift me higher...like the sweet song of a choir. You light my morning sky, with burning love.
Oh, happy triumph of the poet! - to hear his verses wedded to sweet sounds, and warbled by the woman he loves!
I crown thee king of intimate delights, Fire-side enjoyments, home-born happiness, And all the comforts that the lowly roof Of undisturb'd retirement, and the hours Of long uninterrupted ev'ning, know.
