Following the outbreak of gloom induced by yesterday's Empson, I think something more buoyant is called for. Allow me to present to you, therefore, one of my favourite love poems: an untitled sonnet from ee cummings. Generally speaking, he's not an out-and-out favourite of mine - I find him too whimsical a lot of the time - but here, he balances his linguistic playfulness with big, solid, simple nouns (as in the "sun" and "star" of line 12) to produce an almost incantatory paean to the power of love. A profoundly gladdening poem - hope you enjoy it.

being to timelessness as it's to time, love did no more begin than love will end; where nothing is to breathe to stroll to swim love is the air the ocean and the land

(do lovers suffer?all divinities proudly descending put on deathful flesh: are lovers glad?only their smallest joy's a universe emerging from a wish)

love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun more last than star

-do lovers love?why then to heaven with hell. Whatever sages say and fools, all's well