An eclectic mid-60s L.A. band, and, later, a so-so backing group
for co-founder Arthur Lee (a.k.a. Arthurly), a Memphis native. Their first three LPs - Love, Da Capo, and Forever Changes - were classix of the day, but Lee&then fired everybody, and Love's fortunes went downhill. There have been the requisite comeback attempts, but Lee could never catch an Elder Statesman or Living Legend buzz. Love might belong in Rock's Hall of Fame, but flying pigs will arrive first.

Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

'A guest,' I answer'd, 'worthy to be here.'
Love said, 'You shall be he.'
'I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear!
I cannot look on Thee.'
Love took my hand, and smiling deeply did reply,
'Who made the eyes but I?'

'Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.'
'And know you not,' says Love, 'who bore the blame?'
'My dear, then I will serve.'
'You must sit down,' says Love, 'and taste my meat.'
So I did sit and eat.

- George Herbert

Yes, love does include contentment, happiness, lust, needed companionship, these are, to an extent, offshoots.
What love is, is something that can not be put in to words very easily. Love is a series of emotions, that when combined, result in the greatest feeling that you will ever know.
Waking up next to that someone, & snuggling w/ them for hours. Looking into her eyes & seeing & feeling absolute joy. Knowing that if you had a split second to choose 1 moment in your life to spend the rest of eternity, it would be that one.

Love is knowing you always have that person. the shit can hit the fan, but the most important part of your life; her, still remains. You do everything for her, as long as she's happy.

It is not something you can try to give a definition to. It's an elusive animal, that resists all forms of accurate description. But is unique in that, it will reveal all when the time is right.

I've been in love before, only to have my hopes dashed. But such is love, that no matter how hurt, the reward greatly outweighs the risk of the pain that could be caused.

This node might be of help, or it might not @ all. YMMV

LOVE is Robert Indiana's pop-art sculpture currently housed at the Indianapolis Museum of Art. LOVE made its debut in 1966 at the Stable Gallery of New York. The sculpture, four stacked letters with a tilted O, became increasingly recognizable with its adapted appearance on postage stamps, merchandise, and other Indiana art works.

Indiana told the Indianapolis News in 1995, "I consider the LOVE sculpture concrete poetry-- a poem in one word."


Los Angeles based psychedelic/folk/rock band, centered around singer/songwriter Arthur Lee. Lee has been using the name since 1965, and the most recent album recorded under the Love name was in 1989.

While Arthur Lee and the name of the band have remained constant, the band roster and the quality of output certainly has not. Lee came from a traditional black R&B background, but after seeing The Byrds play live in 1965 became heavily influenced by folk music and acoustic guitar work. Recruiting band members, including Bryan Maclean, a former Byrds roadie, he formed Grass Roots, later to become Love. They played intensively across the LA area, and became known as the LA underground band. Naturally, given their surroundings, the band maintained a healthy drug input.

Although hugely popular in LA, the band remained relatively unknown in other areas of the US and abroad. This was mostly because Lee refused to go on tour, or play any gigs outside the LA, and their music was not radio fodder. They were also unfriendly to the music press and other bands, gaining them the rather creative nickname 'Hate'.

The band were signed to the Elektra label in 1966, the first band to do so (although they would later be overshadowed by The Doors). Most songs were written by Lee, although Maclean wrote some of the band's more famous tracks, such as Alone Again Or.

Elektra Discography (albums only) Following the recording of Forever Changes and one more single, the band split completely. Maclean became a born again Christian (as hinted in the Maclean-penned Forever Changes track Old Man) and kicked his heroin habit. Other members quit as their various drug addictions or arguments with Lee got too great. Lee's heroin addiction reached it's peak when he nearly died from an overdose in '68; had he done so, Love would probably have been remembered a great deal more fondly.

Subsequent to the original group splitting, Lee's ego went out of control. He formed a new line up around himself, and continued using the name Love. While the band's final album included some excellent tracks, after leaving Elektra things deteriorated. Lee, with a constantly shifting group of band members, recorded at least another five albums under the name Love, shifting through genres from traditional rock to soul, but never recapturing the quality of the Elektra era, producing material of little worth.

While the group remain largely unknown to the general public, like The Velvet Underground, their influence is acknowledged by today's psychedelic/folk artists, who frequently list Forever Changes amongst their favourite albums. It's one of my personal Desert Island Discs, after I happened to purchase it on a whim.

Lee started a reasonably successful solo career in the 90's, but was arrested for illegal possession of a firearm in '96 and jailed for eight years, under California's Three Strikes system (he had previous convictions for drug possession). Some of the members of his UK based backing band went on to form Shack, a recent favourite of the critics.

Bryan Maclean died of a heart attack in 1998. He hated the final sound of Forever Changes so much that he only listened to it once in his entire life. Two retrospective albums of his material have subsequently been released, featuring both his (largely Christian) solo work and some unreleased Love material.

Pick up Forever Changes next time you see it going cheap. It's the best album you've never heard. They're notably impossible to find on Napster, due to their rather commonly used name.

02/05/2002 - A few updates since crafting this node - Firstly, a remastered re-release of Forever Changes, complete with a bonus CD featuring some extra material (possibly Maclean's work - /msg me if you know) was released unto the British public late last year, where it promptly collected the Best Re-Release accolade in every music magazine's Award Issues. Secondly, HexFailure informs me that Arthur Lee was released from jail in December 2001, so keep an eye out for new material.


Samuel Taylor Coleridge

ALL thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o'er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay,
Beside the ruin'd tower.

The moonshine, stealing o'er the scene,
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!

She lean'd against the armed man,
The statue of the armed Knight;
She stood and listen'd to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.

Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best whene'er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.

I play'd a soft and doleful air;
I sang an old and moving story -
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.

I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he woo'd
The Lady of the Land.

I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another's love,
Interpreted my own.

She listen'd with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes, and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face!

But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he cross'd the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;

That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade -

There came and look'd him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!

And that, unknowing what he did,
He leap'd amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death
The Lady of the Land; -

And how she wept and clasp'd his knees;
And how she tended him in vain -
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain; -

And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest leaves
A dying man he lay; -

His dying words--but when I reach'd
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturb'd her soul with pity!

All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrill'd my guileless Genevieve;
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;

And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherish'd long!

She wept with pity and delight,
She blush'd with love and virgin shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.

Her bosom heavedv - she stepp'd aside,
As conscious of my look she stept -
Then suddenly, with timorous eye
She fled to me and wept.

She half enclosed me with her arms,
She press'd me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, look'd up,
And gazed upon my face.

'Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly 'twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see.
The swelling of her heart.

I calm'd her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with virgin pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.

This is an amazing poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (Hi, I'm Sam! You may remember me from such hits as Kubla Khan and Rime of the Ancient Mariner). The poem for me is the epitome of Romantic poetry, looking at the worth of the individual rather than society. It is about as Romantic (that's Romantic with a capital R) as you can get. The rhyme scheme has always puzzled me: I think its the same rhyme scheme used in'La Belle Dame Sans Merci' which is another quintessentially Romantic poem. It consists of ABCB - there's some structural order but not much. The quatrains, along with the ABCB, give a ballad-like feel to the poem which is full of Medieval allusions and Arthurian legends. Having looked at the great node on La Belle Dame, it tells me:

The first three lines of each stanza are iambic tetrameter with the fourth line being shorter and changing in number of syllables.

Apparently the iambic tetrameter form is a hallmark of the Romantic literary ballad, and looking at some of Coleridge (and Keats') other work, this seems to be true. The last line always has fewer (usually 7) syllables and really stands out. Since each stanza stops at the end with this feature, the whole poem isn't stuttery but has a rhythm to it. It moves with pace and steadiness, but oscillates heavily. In fact this poem is almost identical in structure ans style to 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner' and they both have similarly floral styles. In a sense, the poem is Coleridge's attempt to recreate that period of Arthurian legend where chivalry and honour were virtues deeply respected. Let's not forget he wrote in a time where outward shows of emotion were frowned upon, and seriousness was the order of the day. Romantic poetry was in a way a longing for the ancient times where nature flowered and man was sort of pure. With the advent of Darwinism and other scientific advances faith was faltering among the educated classes and poetry was one of two things: an expression of this doubt, or a reassurance to the poet. Coleridge's poem is the latter, while 'In Memoriam' (a poem that also deals with love, but a different kind of love) by Tennyson is an expression of doubt (although he can't really make his mind up). In short, this poem deals with the kind of love that is no longer around: a deeply emotional love that has no shame in its sentimentality. The poem is one of the most beautiful you will ever read, and its beauty lies in its purely lyrical form. No deep symbolic structures there for you to find, just a slowly oscillating musical sound.

Too often someone is disparaged in their youthful passions by some self-styled wizened sage declaring, "You don't know what love is!" And the funny thing is, even though the youth and the sage have probably used that word thousands of times in their lives, they can't agree what it means.

"This concept of 'wuv' confuses and infuriates us!"

There is a general problem here, and it's not just an embittered codger jealously dismissing that which his heart earnestly yearns for. It's the fluidity of meaning of the word 'love' itself. Some words like 'set' have a dozen separate meanings which can be pieced out by context. But there isn't clear context to separate out the term 'love' since all meanings are tied to emotions and affection. Worse, even if you try to subdivide things down into the concepts of eros, agape, and philos, we still debate over who is in eros and who isn't.

One theory is that "no word ever has exactly the same meaning twice", as is put forth in Language in Thought in Action. But that only happens by degrees. If words aren't at least a little concrete, for a little while, we could never talk to each other at all because my set would never mean the same as your set. And my love never could be the same as your love. There has to be some basis for agreement on the term love so we can talk meaningfully about it. And so that expressing love is meaningful.

One might say things are muddled because this is an attempt to intellectually pin down an emotional concept. But the meaning of other emotions isn't nearly as unclear. Take joy, missing someone, or even hating someone. Have you ever doubted the sincerity of someone's hate?

Love is a snowmobile racing across the tundra and then suddenly it flips over, pinning you underneath. At night, the ice weasels come.
-Matt Groening, Life in Hell

It's been a bit of an issue lately, as I've felt compelled in a few situations to comment on things using such emotionally-charged words as compassion, term life insurance, and love. I don't use such terms lightly because, even if we can't agree on what each other means when we say them, we all know they can greatly modify behavior when they are used.

Thinking, "I want to sleep with you," he said, "I love you."
Thinking, "I trust you enough to take care of you," she said, "I love you too."

I know you can't prescribe meaning for words, especially such universal ones. But I'd like to offer my view on this one.

Love is an impulse built on habit. After an accumulation of positive, emotionally-charged experiences with the same thing or person, thoughts of that thing result in an instant, thoughtless moment of joy. Love is not an emotion so much as a trained response. So to say, "I love you", is to say "The very idea of you makes me happy in an instant."

It matches infatuation which may yet grow; it matches long-term romantic love; it matches parents' adoration for their infants; it matches (at least some) familial love. It matches all of the ideals in my head, so I can use it when I know it is needed and feel I am being honest. And, perhaps most frighteningly, it provides a litmus test for falling out of love. Do you hesitate before you smile? Then you are no longer in love.

Ron Burgundy: Brick, are you just looking at things in the office and saying that you love them?
Brick Tamland: I love lamp.
Ron: Do you really love the lamp, or are you just saying it because you saw it?
Brick: I love lamp! I love lamp!

It's a funny thing when you have words swimming in your head, and you're rearranging your whole belief system in high school. You never know where these ideas might leak out. There was only one person I had the privilege of explaining this to carefully when I distinctly felt the emotion. The target of my affection, being of the particular bent that could both tolerate my long, meandering explanations and appreciate my need to logically analyze something that most took as simply as it comes, kissed me. Most others, I worry, would interpret a definition such as this as a redefinition of the terms of our association, and a negative one at that.

It's not that I'm in love. That's been a long while. But I wonder sometimes what I'm being told when someone says love. Normally, I just smile. For all my need for analysis, I can still be thoughtlessly happy for a moment, being loved.

Love (?), n. [OE. love, luve, AS. lufe, lufu; akin to E.lief, believe, L. lubet, libet,it pleases, Skr. lubh to be lustful. See Lief.]


A feeling of strong attachment induced by that which delights or commands admiration; preeminent kindness or devotion to another; affection; tenderness; as, the love of brothers and sisters.

Of all the dearest bonds we prove Thou countest sons' and mothers' love Most sacred, most Thine own. Keble.


Especially, devoted attachment to, or tender or passionate affection for, one of the opposite sex.

He on his side Leaning half-raised, with looks of cordial love Hung over her enamored. Milton.


Courtship; -- chiefly in the phrase to make love, i. e., to court, to woo, to solicit union in marriage.

Demetrius . . . Made love to Nedar's daughter, Helena, And won her soul. Shak.


Affection; kind feeling; friendship; strong liking or desire; fondness; good will; -- opposed to hate; often with of and an object.

Love, and health to all. Shak.

Smit with the love of sacred song. Milton.

The love of science faintly warmed his breast. Fenton.


Due gratitude and reverence to God.

Keep yourselves in the love of God. Jude 21.


The object of affection; -- often employed in endearing address.

"Trust me, love."


Open the temple gates unto my love. Spenser.


Cupid, the god of love; sometimes, Venus.

Such was his form as painters, when they show Their utmost art, on naked Lores bestow. Dryden.

Therefore do nimble-pinioned doves draw Love. Shak.


A thin silk stuff.



9. Bot.

A climbing species of Clematis (C. Vitalba).


Nothing; no points scored on one side; -- used in counting score at tennis, etc.
from the French, l'oeuf, meaning egg

He won the match by three sets to love. The Field.

Love is often used in the formation of compounds, in most of which the meaning is very obvious; as, love-cracked, love-darting, love-killing, love-linked, love-taught, etc.

A labor of love, a labor undertaken on account of regard for some person, or through pleasure in the work itself, without expectation of reward. -- Free love, the doctrine or practice of consorting with one of the opposite sex, at pleasure, without marriage. See Free love. -- Free lover, one who avows or practices free love. -- In love, in the act of loving; -- said esp. of the love of the sexes; as, to be in love; to fall in love. -- Love apple Bot., the tomato. -- Love bird Zool., any one of several species of small, short-tailed parrots, or parrakeets, of the genus Agapornis, and allied genera. They are mostly from Africa. Some species are often kept as cage birds, and are celebrated for the affection which they show for their mates. -- Love broker, a person who for pay acts as agent between lovers, or as a go-between in a sexual intrigue. Shak. -- Love charm, a charm for exciting love. Ld. Lytton. -- Love child. an illegitimate child. Jane Austen. -- Love day, a day formerly appointed for an amicable adjustment of differences. [Obs.] Piers Plowman. Chaucer. -- Love drink, a love potion; a philter. Chaucer. -- Love favor, something given to be worn in token of love. -- Love feast, a religious festival, held quarterly by some religious denominations, as the Moravians and Methodists, in imitation of the agapae of the early Christians. -- Love feat, the gallant act of a lover. Shak. -- Love game, a game, as in tennis, in which the vanquished person or party does not score a point. -- Love grass. [G. liebesgras.] Bot. Any grass of the genus Eragrostis. -- Love-in-a-mist. Bot. (a) An herb of the Buttercup family (Nigella Damascena) having the flowers hidden in a maze of finely cut bracts. (b) The West Indian Passiflora fetida, which has similar bracts. -- Love-in-idleness Bot., a kind of violet; the small pansy.

A little western flower, Before milk-white, now purple with love's wound; And maidens call it love-in-idleness. Shak.

-- Love juice, juice of a plant supposed to produce love. Shak. -- Love knot, a knot or bow, as of ribbon; -- so called from being used as a token of love, or as a pledge of mutual affection. Milman. -- Love lass, a sweetheart. -- Love letter, a letter of courtship. Shak. -- Love-lies-bleeding Bot., a species of amaranth (Amarantus melancholicus). -- Love match, a marriage brought about by love alone. -- Love potion, a compounded draught intended to excite love, or venereal desire. -- Love rites, sexual intercourse. Pope -- Love scene, an exhibition of love, as between lovers on the stage. -- Love suit, courtship. Shak. -- Of all loves, for the sake of all love; by all means. [Obs.] "Mrs. Arden desired him of all loves to come back again." Holinshed. -- The god of love, or Love god, Cupid. -- To make love to, to express affection for; to woo. "If you will marry, make your loves to me." Shak. -- To play for love, to play a game, as at cards, without stakes. "A game at piquet for love." Lamb.

Syn. -- Affection; friendship; kindness; tenderness; fondness; delight.


© Webster 1913.

Love (?), v. t. [imp. & p. p. Loved (?); p. pr. & vb. n. Loving.] [AS. lufian. . See Love, n.]


To have a feeling of love for; to regard with affection or good will; as, to love one's children and friends; to love one's country; to love one's God.

Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. Matt. xxii. 37.

Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thy self. Matt. xxii. 39.


To regard with passionate and devoted affection, as that of one sex for the other.


To take delight or pleasure in; to have a strong liking or desire for, or interest in; to be pleased with; to like; as, to love books; to love adventures.

Wit, eloquence, and poetry. Arts which I loved. Cowley.


© Webster 1913.

Love, v. i.

To have the feeling of love; to be in love.


© Webster 1913.

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