the-encounter by Vladimir Nabokov

the encounter

by Vladimir Nabokov

enchanted by this strange proximity

Longing, and mystery, and delight…
as if from the swaying blackness
of some slow-motion masquerade
onto the dim bridge you came.

And night flowed, and silent there floated
into its satin streams
that black mask’s wolf-like profile
and those tender lips of yours.

And under the chestnuts, along the canal
you passed, luring me askance.
What did my heart discern in you,
how did you move me so?

In your momentary tenderness,
or in the changing contour of your shoulders,
did I experience a dim sketch
of other—irrevocable—encounters?

Perhaps romantic pity
led you to understand
what had set trembling that arrow
now piercing through my verse?

I know nothing. Strangely
the verse vibrates, and in it, an arrow…
Perhaps you, still nameless, were
the genuine, the awaited one?

But sorrow not yet quite cried out
perturbed our starry hour.
Into the night returned the double fissure
of your eyes, eyes not yet illumed.

For long? For ever? Far off
I wander, and strain to hear
the movement of the stars above our encounter
and what if you are to be my fate…

Longing, and mystery, and delight,
and like a distant supplication….
My heart must travel on.
But if you are to be my fate…

Garden of Eden

True love

Vampire love story

snow white

Photo song

st valentine

Valentine's Day Jazz Music - Romantic Saxophone and Piano JAZZ for Dinner - Love Music

Remember when

Evening Song by Willa Cather

Evening Song   Willa Cather

Dear love, what thing of all the things that be  Is ever worth one thought from you or me,               Save only Love,               Save only Love? The days so short, the nights so quick to flee,  The world so wide, so deep and dark the sea,                So dark the sea;  So far the suns and every listless star,  Beyond their light—Ah! dear, who knows how far,               Who knows how far?  One thing of all dim things I know is true,  The heart within me knows, and tells it you,               And tells it you.  So blind is life, so long at last is sleep,  And none but Love to bid us laugh or weep,               And none but Love,               And none but Love.

nobody does it better from The Spy Who Loved Me Soundtrack (1977) Charted: 7 2 Get the Sheet Music License This Song 

Nobody does it any better I'm sorry for the break No one is going to do it as much as you do Kids, you're best I can't see it ”, but some of you have accepted me He tries to hide it from you in the light of love But like the sky was above me The spy who loved me Everything I keep secret from being shared tonight

And no one does it better
However, sometimes I wish someone could
No one does
Why should you be good?

As you walk with me
Whenever you ask me
It's a kind of magic in you
It prevents me from running
But keep it
How do you learn to do what you do?

No one will do better
It makes me sad
Nobody is as good as you
Young man, baby, you are the best

My dear, you are the best
Darlin, you are the best
My dear, you are the best

from Pale fire by nabokov

I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the windowpane;
I was the smudge of ashen fluff—and I
Lived on, flew on, in the reflected sky.
And from the inside, too, I’d duplicate
Myself, my lamp, an apple on a plate:
Uncurtaining the night, I’d let dark glass
Hang all the furniture above the grass,
And how delightful when a fall of snow
Covered my glimpse of lawn and reached up so
As to make chair and bed exactly stand
Upon that snow, out in that crystal land!

“O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?”

from Romeo and Juliet, spoken by Juliet)

O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?

Deny thy father and refuse thy name.

Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love

And I’ll no longer be a Capulet.

‘Tis but thy name that is my enemy:

Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.

What’s Montague? It is nor hand nor foot

Nor arm nor face nor any other part

Belonging to a man. O be some other name.

What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet;

So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call’d,

Retain that dear perfection which he owes

Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,

And for that name, which is no part of thee,

Take all myself.

Shakespeare in love