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Cupid and Psyche

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Guillaume Seignac

Love Poems Romantic Poetry and Vintage Paintings in Classic Art Home 1 Cupid and Psyche Guillaume Seignac Femme Classic Art Home Page Femme Classic Art Love poems romantic poetry for ladies with historic paintings for females
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Cupid god of love and desire with Psyche. Psyche the immortal woman eventually becomes Cupids wife. She has pretty flowers in her hair flowers everywhere and Psyche is wearing a lovely long white dress with her bare feet poking out at the bottom of the dress. A light blue overlay adds a nice touch to her elegant dress. They are sitting together on the edge of a pond flirting with each other. Psyche is using her lovely eyes on Cupid. Not that he needs any encouragement. Her luscious lips and beautiful complexion along with her voluptuous body are enough to lure any man to her pleasure nest for a night of intense love making and horizontal trampolining. What a fiery session of love making that would be with Cupid the God of love and desire leading the way. What is that eerie shape on the other side if the pond? Is it watching over them?
A love making position that doesn't put pressure on her knees and avoids morning breath.
Wicked Temptations Lingerie and sex toys for women Romantic Poetry Love Poems and Vintage Paintings
Love making position by the artist Alberto Vargas His painting shows a great sex positiond The Huffington Post Love and Sex Pages
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Wicked Temptations. Look wicked. Feel wicked and be a wicked lover.
An Alberto Vargas painting - A love making position alternative to doggy style. Vaginal position. Put a smile on her face. For a fraction less friction. Don't forget your lube. It helps her with making love.
The Huffington Post Love and Sex Pages. Ten Reasons To Make Sex With Your Spouse A Daily Ritual.
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Love Poem Twenty Seven - Modernised Shakespeare

How can I then return in a happy spell
What am I deprived of the benefit of rest?
When the oppression of the day is not soothed at night,
But day after night and night after day oppressed.
And everyone (although the enemies to one or the other reign)
Do you consent, by consent, to torture me,
One by toil, the other to complain
How far I work, even further from you.
I say the day to please him you are alive,
And his grace when the clouds clear the sky:
So flatter the dark complexion,
When stars twinkle, you do not sleep at night.
But every day, my sorrow is longer,
And night, night, the length of sorrow seems stronger.

 

Love Poem Twenty Nine - Modernised Shakespeare 

 

In disgrace with the fortune and the eyes of men,
I'm all alone stammering my pariah state,
And cloud the dull sky with my merciless cries,
And look at me and curse my fate,
Wishing me as a richer in hope,
Featured like him, like him with possessed friends,
Desiring the art of this man and the reach of this man,
With what I like the least happy,
Yet in these thoughts, my self almost despising,
Maybe I'm thinking of you, and then my condition,
(Like the lark at sunrise
Sullen earth) sings hymns at the gate of heaven,
Because your sweet love remembers such wealth,
This then I despise to change my state with kings.

 

Love Poem Thirty - Modernised Shakespeare 

 

When at the sessions of sweet silent thought,
I remember the memory of the past,
I sigh of the lack of many things I was looking for,
And with old misfortunes, moan the waste of my dearest time:
Can I drown an eye (not used to sink)
For the precious friends hidden in the night without date of death,
And crying again love has long since canceled misfortune,
And moan the expense of many missing people.
Then, can I grieve at grievances,
And heavily unfortunate misfortune to tell o'er
The sad story of pre-deplored moaning,
What I pay as if I had not been paid before.
But if I think of you (dear friend)
All losses are restored and sorrows end.

 

Love Poem Thirty One- Modernised Shakespeare 

 

Your breast is loved with all hearts,
What by lack is supposed to be dead,
And there reign love and all loving parts of love,
And all those friends that I thought were buried.
How many sacred and obsequious tears
Is my religious love dear to my eyes,
As an interest of the dead, who appear now,
But the things that have been hidden from you lie.
You are the tomb where buried love lives,
Hung with the trophies of my departed lovers,
Who gave you all their parts of me,
It's due to a lot, now it's up to you alone.
I liked their pictures, I see you,
And you (all), you have me all.

 

Love Poem Thirty Two - Modernised Shakespeare 

 

If you survive my happy day,
When that death dies my dust bones will cover
And by fortune once again re-poll
Those poor coarse lines of your deceased lover:
Compare them with the best moment of time,
And although they are overwhelmed by all the pens,
Book them for my love, not for their rhyme,
Exceeded by the height of happier men.
O then vouchsafe me but this loving thought,
Had my friend's muse grown with age,
A birth more expensive than the one his love had brought
To walk in the ranks of a better crew:
But since he died and the poets prove better,
I will read theirs for their style, his for his love

 
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
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