“Maybe love is likea monsoon rain.When it rainsreally hard and heavy,it seems like it will never endand we'll swim in mudforever.But then the wind shiftsand the earth growsdry and cracked.Every gurgle and oozetiptoes awayand we're left wishingand waitingfor rain again.Maybe love is like that.Maybe the wind shiftsand love just tiptoes away.”
“. . . At Ghent the wind rose.There was a smell of rain and a heavy dragOf wind in the hedges but not as the wind blowsOver fresh water when the waves lagFoaming and the willows huddle and it will rain . . .”
“Welladay! Welladay! For the winds of May!Love is unhappy when love is away!”
“Love comes like storm cloudsFleeing from the wind, and castsShadows on the moon.”
“Love is like the wind, you can't see it but you can feel it.”
“Dear Lovey, we'll sing and dance, and float as far as Paris, France. On airy currents up above, we'll teach the wildest wind to love.”