Cancel Comment. Oct 13 June A. Dubai, United Arab Emirates.
Sep 18 How sweet it is to be in love with the Lord. Sep 4 Aug 22 Dec 12 Dec 8 Nov 21 Frances Festac, Lagos State, Nigeria. I'm in love with the most intimate One. Oct 12 Eliezer Longaquit C. Lloydminster, Alberta, Canada. I'm rejoicing in You Lord Jesus I'm in love with You as the most beautiful One. Aug 17 You are the most intimate, affectionate and beautiful One. Category: Experience of Christ. Subcategory: Loving Him. What recketh he his rider's angry stir, His flattering 'Holla,' or his 'Stand, I say?
For rich caparisons or trapping gay? He sees his love, and nothing else he sees, For nothing else with his proud sight agrees. Does he care now that his angry rider is shouting, "hey" and "stay there? About fancy harnesses or bright-colored ribbons? He can't see anything but his love; nothing else is worth looking at to him. Look, when a painter would surpass the life, In limning out a well-proportion'd steed, His art with nature's workmanship at strife, As if the dead the living should exceed; So did this horse excel a common one In shape, in courage, colour, pace and bone.
It was as if a painter had set out to draw an ideal horse that would put real horses to shame—drawing out the right proportions, painting him to his best ability, as if a work of art could be better than life. In just the same way, that horse's body, spirit, color, speed, and form excelled all other horses. Round-hoof'd, short-jointed, fetlocks shag and long, Broad breast, full eye, small head and nostril wide, High crest, short ears, straight legs and passing strong, Thin mane, thick tail, broad buttock, tender hide: Look, what a horse should have he did not lack, Save a proud rider on so proud a back.
Round hooves; short joints; long, shaggy fetlocks ; a broad chest; full eyes; a small head; wide nostrils; a high forehead; straight legs; exceptional strength; a thin mane; thick tail; broad buttocks; and a soft hide: this horse lacked nothing except a handsome rider on his back to match his handsome self. Sometime he scuds far off and there he stares; Anon he starts at stirring of a feather; To bid the wind a base he now prepares, And whether he run or fly they know not whether; For through his mane and tail the high wind sings, Fanning the hairs, who wave like feather'd wings.
He would scurry off and stand far away, staring.
Then he'd start at the smallest thing. He was ready to chase the wind, whether he had to run or fly to do it.
The wind ran through his mane and tail, fanning the hair out like feathery wings. He looks upon his love and neighs unto her; She answers him as if she knew his mind: Being proud, as females are, to see him woo her, She puts on outward strangeness, seems unkind, Spurns at his love and scorns the heat he feels, Beating his kind embracements with her heels. He looked at his love and neighed to her. She answered him as if she could read his mind. Like all females, she got prideful when he started flirting with her. She started acting cold and rude, rejecting his love and mocking his passion, kicking him away when he tried to get close.
Then, like a melancholy malcontent, He veils his tail that, like a falling plume, Cool shadow to his melting buttock lent: He stamps and bites the poor flies in his fume. His love, perceiving how he is enraged, Grew kinder, and his fury was assuaged. Then, as if he were depressed, he curled his tail over his backside, shading it like an umbrella. He stamped and bit the flies in his tail.
His love could see how angry he was and started acting more kindly; his anger went away. His testy master goeth about to take him; When, lo, the unback'd breeder, full of fear, Jealous of catching, swiftly doth forsake him, With her the horse, and left Adonis there: As they were mad, unto the wood they hie them, Out-stripping crows that strive to over-fly them.
His grumpy master went to grab him when, all of a sudden, the female horse spooked. Not wanting to lose her, Adonis' horse abandoned him and ran after her, leaving Adonis behind. They ran into the woods like crazy horses, running faster than the crows could fly in the air above them. All swoln with chafing, down Adonis sits, Banning his boisterous and unruly beast: And now the happy season once more fits, That love-sick Love by pleading may be blest; For lovers say, the heart hath treble wrong When it is barr'd the aidance of the tongue. Filled with anger, Adonis sat down, berating his energetic, misbehaving animal.
It was a good time then for lovesick Venus to make a more successful attempt at love. Lovers say that your heart is most in pain when it can't find the words to articulate what it feels. An oven that is stopp'd, or river stay'd, Burneth more hotly, swelleth with more rage: So of concealed sorrow may be said; Free vent of words love's fire doth assuage; But when the heart's attorney once is mute, The client breaks, as desperate in his suit.
When you stop an oven, it burns hotter; when you dam a river, it swells higher.
When did my colds a forward spring remove? This said, impatience chokes her pleading tongue, And swelling passion doth provoke a pause; Red cheeks and fiery eyes blaze forth he wrong; Being judge in love, she cannot right her cause: And now she weeps, and now she fain would speak, And now her sobs do her intendments break. The seasons bring the flower again, And bring the firstling to the flock; And in the dusk of thee, the clock Beats out the little lives of men. And at his look she flatly falleth down, For looks kill love and love by looks reviveth; A smile recures the wounding of a frown; But blessed bankrupt, that by love so thriveth! Copy to Clipboard. What think you on't? If you would touch it, my smooth, moist hand would dissolve in your hand, or seem to melt.
It's the same when you try to keep sadness bottled up. Love makes you want to speak up. When you're silent, the words will break out of you because you start to get desperate. He sees her coming, and begins to glow, Even as a dying coal revives with wind, And with his bonnet hides his angry brow; Looks on the dull earth with disturbed mind, Taking no notice that she is so nigh, For all askance he holds her in his eye.
He saw her coming and started to get angry, like a dying coal that flames up in the wind.
Sweet love, if thou wilt gain a monarch's glory, Subdue her heart, who makes me glad and sorry, Out of thy golden quiver, Take thou the. Sweet love, if thou wilt gain a mo Subdue her heart, who makes me gla Out of thy golden quiver, Take thou the strongest arrow, That will, thro'€™ bone and.
He pulled his hat down over his face and looked down at the ground, angry and disturbed. He didn't look at her as she drew closer. He looked everywhere but at her. O, what a sight it was, wistly to view How she came stealing to the wayward boy! To note the fighting conflict of her hue, How white and red each other did destroy! But now her cheek was pale, and by and by It flash'd forth fire, as lightning from the sky.
It was a sight to see how she came creeping over to the escaping boy! It was strange to see how her face blushed and grew pale! Her cheek was pale, but a few seconds later it would blush again, as quickly as lightning in the sky. Now was she just before him as he sat, And like a lowly lover down she kneels; With one fair hand she heaveth up his hat, Her other tender hand his fair cheek feels: His tenderer cheek receives her soft hand's print, As apt as new-fall'n snow takes any dint.
She reached the place where he was sitting, and knelt down like a humble lover. She pulled his hat up with one hand, and felt his soft cheek with her other hand.
His soft cheek, like freshly-fallen snow, felt the imprint of her soft hand on it. O, what a war of looks was then between them! Her eyes petitioners to his eyes suing; His eyes saw her eyes as they had not seen them; Her eyes woo'd still, his eyes disdain'd the wooing: And all this dumb play had his acts made plain With tears, which, chorus-like, her eyes did rain. There was a war of looks between the two of them.
She looked into his eyes, pleading, begging. He looked into hers like he couldn't see them. Her eyes flirted with him; his eyes rejected her flirting. Their silent looks gave way to an abundance of tears, which rained down from her eyes to explain her sadness. Full gently now she takes him by the hand, A lily prison'd in a gaol of snow, Or ivory in an alabaster band; So white a friend engirts so white a foe: This beauteous combat, wilful and unwilling, Show'd like two silver doves that sit a-billing.
She took him gently by the hand, encasing his white hand in her white one. It was like a lily covered in snow, or ivory wrapped in alabaster; that's how white their two hands were. This beautiful battle between her and him—the willing and the unwilling—was like two silver doves pecking at each other.