True Love is but a humble, low-born thing,
   And hath its food served up in earthen ware;
   It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand. 
   Through the every-dayness of this work-day world,

* * * * *

   A simple, fireside thing, whose quiet smile
   Can warm earth’s poorest hovel to a home.
Love.  J.R.  LOWELL.

  He is the half part of a blessed man,
  Left to be finished by such as she;
  And she a fair divided excellence,
  Whose fulness of perfection lies in him;
King John, Act ii.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

  As unto the bow the cord is,
  So unto the man is woman;
  Though she bends him she obeys him;
  Though she draws him, yet she follows,
  Useless each without the other!
Hiawatha, Pt.  X.  H.W.  LONGFELLOW.

Man is but half without woman; and
As do idolaters their heavenly gods,
We deify the things that we adore.
Festus.  P.J.  BAILEY.

                  Let still the woman take
  An elder than herself:  so wears she to him,
  So sways she level in her husband’s heart,
  For, boy, however we do praise ourselves,
  Our fancies are more giddy and unfirm,
  More longing, wavering, sooner lost and won,
  Than women’s are.

* * * * *

Then let thy love be younger than thyself,
Or thy affection cannot hold the bent.
Twelfth Night, Act ii.  Sc. 4.  SHAKESPEARE.

  Such duty as the subject owes the prince,
  Even such a woman oweth to her husband.
Taming of the Shrew, Act v.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

  And truant husband should return, and say. 
  “My dear, I was the first who came away.”
Don Juan, Canto I.  LORD BYRON.

  With thee conversing I forget all time;
  All seasons and their change, all please alike.

* * * * *

But neither breath of morn when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds, nor rising sun
On this delightful land, nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glistering with dew, nor fragrance after showers,
Nor grateful evening mild, nor silent night
With this her solemn bird, nor walk by moon,
Or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
Paradise Lost, Bk.  IV.  MILTON.

                  So loving to my mother. 
  That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
  Visit her face too roughly.
Hamlet, Act i.  Sc. 2.  SHAKESPEARE.

Dear as the vital warmth that feeds my life;
Dear as these eyes, that weep in fondness o’er thee.
Venice Preserved, Act v.  Sc. 1.  T. OTWAY.

Maidens like moths are ever caught by glare. 
And Mammon wins his way where seraphs might despair.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.  LORD BYRON.

  So, with decorum all things carry’d;
  Miss frowned, and blushed, and then was—­married.
The Double Transformation.  O. GOLDSMITH.