• Song by William Blake
• The Love-Letter by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
• Neither Wanting More by Mae Swenson
• I Prithee Send Me Back My Heart by Sir John Suckling
• To Celia by Ben Jonson
• Lovers' Duet by Wendy Lee
• Credits

How sweet I roam'd from field to field
	And tasted all the summer`s pride,
Till I the prince of love beheld
	Who in the sunny beams did glide!

He show'd me lilies for my hair,
	And blushing roses for my brow;
He led me through his gardens fair
	Where all his golden pleasures grow.

With sweet May dew my wings were wet,
	And Phoebus fired my vocal rage;
He caught me in his silken net,
	And shut me in his golden cage.

He loves to sit and hear me sing,
	Then, laughing, sports and plays with me;
Then stretches out my golden wing,
	And mocks my loss of liberty

WILLIAM BLAKE

Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair
    As close she leaned and poured her heart through
	thee,
    Whereof the articulate throbs accompany
The smooth, black stream that makes thy whiteness
	fair-
Sweet, fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware,-
    Oh let thy silent song disclose to me
    That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree
Like married music in Love`s answering air.
Fain had I watched her when, at some fond thought,
    Her bosom to the writing closelier press`d,
    And her breast`s secrets peered into her breast;
When, through eyes raised in an instant, her soul sought
My soul, and from the sudden confluence caught
    The words that made her love the loveliest.

DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI

I prithee send me back my heart,
	Since I can not have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
	Why then shouldst thou have mine?

Yet now I think on`t, let it lie;
	To find it were in vain,
For th`hast a thief in either eye
	Would steal it back again.

Why should two hearts in one breast lie,
	And yet not lodge together?
O love, where is thy sympathy,
	If thus our breasts thou sever?

But love is such a mystery,
	I cannot find it out:
For when I think I`m best resolv`d,
	I then am in most doubt.

Then farewell care and farewell woe;
	I will no longer pine:
For I'll believe I have her heart,
	As much as she hath mine.

SIR JOHN SUCKLING

Drink to me only with thine eyes,
	And I will pledge with mine;
Or leave a kiss but in the cup
	And I`ll not look for wine.
The thirst that from the soul doth rise
	Doth ask a drink divine;
But might I of Jove's nectar sup,
	I would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,
	Not so much honouring thee
As giving it a hope that there
	It could not wither`d be;
But thou thereon didst only breathe
	And sent`st it back to me;
Since when it grows, and smells, I swear,
	Not of itself but thee!

BEN JONSON

What began as an urge to satisfy
something primal in me,
became a desire to unite deeply
with you.

I rose in love to your touch.
I lost myself in the fullness of your kiss,
the silky glide of your arms,
the strong harbor of your thighs,
the heat of your body
inside mine.

I opened to you
as you opened to me,
parting barriers unfelt until
we pressed freely eyond their sphere.

You moved with love,
holding me firmly,
giving me pleasure,
carefully stroking me fuller, harder,
more vulnerable.

Beyond the rattle of the clock
and the confines of the room.
Beyond cumbersome egos
and the constant pressure of earthly concerns.

Into an ancient rythmical dance,
a duet of quickening passions,
breathless friction,
breathful sighs.
Your joy beckoned mine,
and mine yours.

Steadily rocking,
rolling through cannonball bursts
and delicate pulsations.
We came cheek to cheek,
sharing a sweet throaty song
of I Love Yous.

WENDY LEE