Oh! who the exquisite delight can tell,
The joy which mutual confidence imparts,
Or who can paint the charm unspeakable
Which links in tender bonds two faithful hearts?

Our ages so in dates agree

Sigourney.

That twins do differ more than we.

December 8.

William Cartwright.

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love would shine on you like to the sun,

And look upon you with ten thousand eyes,

Till heaven wax'd blind, and till the world was done.

Thomas Sylvestre.

Had I a heart for falsehood framed

I ne'er could injure thee.

December 9.

Sheridan.

The sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea;

What are all these kisses worth

If thou kiss not me?

Shelley.

Oh, yes! I feel there is but one,
One only in the world for me.

Moore.

December 8.

December 9.

Let e'en your prudence wear the pleasing dress
Of care for him, and anxious tenderness;
From kind concern about his weal or woe
Let each domestic duty seem to flow.

Lyttelton.

Thus hand in hand through life we'll go ;
Its chequered paths of joy and wo
With cautious steps we'll tread.

December II.

Say over again, and yet over again,

Cotton.

That thou dost love me, tho' the word repeated
Should seem a cuckoo song as thou dost treat it.
E. B. Browning.

For aught that ever I could read,

Could ever hear by tale or history,

The course of true love never did run smooth.

Shakespeare

(Midsummer Night's Dream).

December 12.

When Time, who steals our years away,

Shall steal our pleasures too,

The memory of the past will stay

And half our joys renew.

Moore.

No cord nor cable can so forcibly draw, or hold so

fast, as love can with a timid thread.

Burton.

December II.

December 12.

Thou little sceptic!

Dost thou still doubt? What I most prize in woman

Is her affections, not her intellect !

The intellect is finite, but the affections
Are infinite, and cannot be exhausted.

Longfellow

(The Spanish Student).

Kindness in women, not their beauteous looks,
Shall win my love.

December 5.

Shakespeare.

Oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
Thro' joy, and thro' torment, thro' glory and shame?
I know not, I ask not, if guilt's in that heart,
I but know that I love thee whatever thou art.

Moore.

Sweet is my toil when my dear wife is near;
Of her bereft, 'tis winter all the year.

December 6.

But when she means with frowns to kill
He looks as if he loved her so;
She smiles to him against her will.

Gay.

Coventry Patmore.

Sometimes my plague, sometimes my darling,
Kissing to-day-to-morrow snarling.

Prior.