Valentines supper London? You’ll adore Green’s Restaurant and The Runner Bar
Love will definitely be in the air at the Runner Bar and Green’s Restaurant this February 14th! If you are desperately trying to think of the perfect place for Valentines supper London, search no more. There’s still time to plan a romantic Valentines evening London at one of the City’s finest venues – Green’s Restaurant Cornhill and equally renowned, The Runner Bar, Cornhill.
Book your Valentines supper London now
It’s not too late to book a table for two and celebrate an intimate Valentines evening London at one of the City’s finest eateries, Green’s Restaurant, complemented by The Runner Bar. When it comes to Valentines supper London, we’re sure to impress – whether your Valentines evening London is to be spent with one special guest or a group of people you simply love spending time with.
Green’s Restaurant, Cornhill London and The Runner Bar promise a unique setting and all the right ingredients for a memorable Valentines supper London.
Contact us for details of our special Valentines evening London menu options. From the finest cuisine, to tantalising wines and attentive service amidst memorable surroundings, London’s greatest celebrations for the 14th February start right here.
Food for thought...
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee—in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
First time he kissed me, he but only kissed
The fingers of this hand wherewith I write;
And ever since, it grew more clean and white,
Slow to world-greetings, quick with its 'Oh, list,'
When the angels speak. A ring of amethyst
I could not wear here, plainer to my sight,
Than that first kiss. The second passed in height
The first, and sought the forehead, and half missed,
Half falling on the hair. O beyond meed!
That was the chrism of love, which love's own crown,
With sanctifying sweetness, did precede.
The third upon my lips was folded down
In perfect, purple state; since when, indeed,
I have been proud and said, 'My love, my own.'
