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Yes, I'll Marry You
Pam Ayres

Yes, I'll marry you, my dear,
And here's the reason why;
So I can push you out of bed
When the baby starts to cry,
And if we hear a knocking
And it's creepy and it's late,
I hand you the torch you see,
And you investigate.

Yes I'll marry you, my dear,
You may not apprehend it,
But when the tumble-drier goes
It's you that has to mend it,
You have to face the neighbour
Should our labrador attack him,
And if a drunkard fondles me
It's you that has to whack him.

Yes, I'll marry you,
You're virile and you're lean,
My house is like a pigsty
You can help to keep it clean.
That sexy little dinner
Which you served by candlelight,
As I do chipolatas,
You can cook it every night!

It's you who has to work the drill
and put up curtain track,
And when I've got PMT it's you who gets the flak,
I do see great advantages,
But none of them for you,
And so before you see the light,
I do, I do, I do!

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We confess to being fools and wish that we were more so. In the face of the approaching atom bomb test (and discussion of widespread radioactivity is giving people more and more of an excuse to get away from the philosophy of personalism and the doctrine of free will); in the face of an approaching maritime strike; in the face of bread shortages and housing shortages; in the face of the passing of the draft extension, teenagers included, we face the situation that there is nothing we can do for people except to love them. If the maritime strike goes on there will be no shipping of food or medicine or clothes to Europe or the Far East, so there is nothing to do again but to love. We continue in our 14th year of feeding our brothers and sisters, clothing them and sheltering them, and the more we do it, the more we realize that the most important thing is to love. There are several families with us, destitute families, destitute to an unbelievable extent, and there, too, is nothing to do but to love. What I mean is that there is no chance of rehabilitation, no chance, so far as we see, of changing them; certainly no chance of adjusting them to this abominable world about them, — and who wants them adjusted, anyway?
What we would like to do is change the world-make it a little simpler for people to feed, clothe, and shelter themselves as God intended them to do. And to a certain extent, by fighting for better conditions, by crying out unceasingly for the rights of the workers, and the poor, of the destitute-the rights of the worthy and the unworthy poor, in other words-we can to a certain extent change the world; we can work for the oasis, the little cell of joy and peace in a harried world. We can throw our pebble in the pond and be confident that its ever-widening circle will reach around the world.

We repeat, there is nothing that we can do but love, and dear God-please enlarge our hearts to love each other, to love our neighbor, to love our enemy as well as our friend.

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I haven't heard the second myth, but that sounds gorgeous.

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Such love I cannot analyse;
It does not rest in lips or eyes,
Neither in kisses nor caress.
Partly, I know, it’s gentleness

And understanding in one word
Or in brief letters. It’s preserved
By trust and by respect and awe.
These are the words I’m feeling for.

Two people, yes, two lasting friends.
The giving comes, the taking ends
There is no measure for such things.
For this all Nature slows and sings.

Friendship By Elizabeth Jennings

Such love I cannot analyse;
It does not rest in lips or eyes,
Neither in kisses nor caress.
Partly, I know, it’s gentleness

And understanding in one word
Or in brief letters. It’s preserved
By trust and by respect and awe.
These are the words I’m feeling for.

Two people, yes, two lasting friends.
The giving comes, the taking ends
There is no measure for such things.
For this all Nature slows and sings.

That First Day By Christina Rossetti

I wish I could remember, that first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me,
If bright or dim the season, it might be
Summer or Winter for aught I can say;
So unrecorded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to foresee,
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a May.
If only I could recollect it, such
A day of days! I let it come and go
As traceless as a thaw of bygone snow;
It seemed to mean so little, meant so much;
If only now I could recall that touch,
First touch of hand in hand – Did one but know!

http://www.weddingreads.com/wedding_readings/ helped me alot

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The circuitries of love and attachment are everywhere within us. No sense is left unseized. Babies play on this by being pleasing to the eye—by being almost too cute, literally, to bear. Human babies arrive pre-fattened, and the reason for this is unclear; gorilla babies are born with almost no fat on them, and the extra bulk of a human baby makes birth harder for the mother.
Perhaps babies are fat simply to make them look adorable. The visual seductions of a baby, a chubby, soft, rounded baby with its fleshy arms and thighs, may magnify the baby’s power to win the warmth and the touch of its mother.
Rounded too is the sound of love, the rising and falling voice with which we coo at babies and a mate. As adults, we co-opt the warmth of baby talk to win a lover’s affections. We step ontogenically backward, offering coos, swoops, and warm nicknames of our own invention.
Touch also conveys warmth. We stroke and dance with our lovers, we stroke and rock our infants—just the thought of rocking our babies fills us with warmth and joy. We instinctively know the right way to stroke someone—too fast, that’s irritating, too slow, that’s dull. Other mammals lick their pups or kittens, and babies nuzzle into it—this is as lovely as life will be.
Smell too is a subcognitive minister, preaching bonds we are at a loss to describe or understand. We know the way our lover smells. A person who is anosmic—who has no sense of smell—can feel lust, but has difficulty forming attachments. A scent can trigger a memory, an image, or an emotion, whether it is the smell of our lover’s perfume or our grandmother’s pumpkin pie.
We humans can maintain with just our minds the neuronal state of attachment. We have photographs. We have friends who mention the loved one. We walk the same streets and eat in the same restaurants where we once strolled and dined with the loved one. Again and again, the circuitries of love are reignited, and our minds protect the pathways of attachment. We don’t understand all of the endocrinology, the neuroanatomy, or the biochemistry of love. But we know it when we feel it. And we feel it here today.

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The Beauty of Love (Anonymous)
The question is asked: “Is there anything more beautiful in life than a young couple clasping hands and pure hearts in the path of marriage? Can there be anything more beautiful than young love?” And the answer is given: “Yes, there is a more beautiful thing. It is the spectacle of an old man and an old woman finishing their journey together on that path. Their hands are gnarled but still clasped; their faces are seamed but still radiant; their hearts are physically bowed and tired but still strong with love and devotion. Yes, there is a more beautiful thing than young love. Old Love.”

Also- Don Williams' song- You're My Best Friend
You placed gold on my finger
You brought love like I've never known
You'll give life to our children
And to me, a reason to go on.

When I need hope and inspiration
You're always strong when I'm tired and weak
I could search this whole world over
You'd still be everything that I need.

You're my bread when I'm hungry
You're my shelter from troubled winds
You're my anchor in life's ocean
But most of all, you're my best friend

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