love poem

Sweet for a little even to fear, and sweet
O love, to lay down fear at love's fair feet;
Shall not some fiery memory of his breath
Lie sweet on lips that touch the lips of death?
You leave me not; yet, if thou wilt, be free;
Love me no more, but love my love of thee,
Love where thou wilt, and live thy life; and I,
One thing I can, and one love cannot--die.
Pass from me; yet thine arms, thine eyes, thine hair,
Feed my desire and deaden my despair.
Yet once more ere time change us, ere my cheek

This fairest one of all the stars, whose flame,
For ever lit, my inner spirit fills,
Came to me first one day between the hills.

I wondered very much; but God the Lord
Said, " From Our Virtue, lo! this light is pour'd."
So in a dream it seemed that I was led
By a great Master to a garden spread
With lilies underfoot and overhead.

Thou's welcome, wean! mishanter fa' me,
If ought of thee, or of thy mammy,
Shall ever daunton me, or awe me,
My sweet wee lady,
Or if I blush when thou shalt ca' me
Tit-ta or daddy.

Wee image of my bonnie Betty,
I fatherly will kiss and daut thee,
As dear an' near my heart I set thee
Wi' as guid will,
As a' the priests had seen me get thee
That's out o' hell.

What tho' they ca' me fornicator,
An' tease my name in kintra clatter:
The mair they talk I'm kent the better,
E'en let them clash;

1

This love, I canna' bear it,
It cheats me night and day;
This love, I canna' wear it,
It takes my peace away.

2

This love, wa' once a flower;
But now it is a thorn, —
The joy o' evening hour,
Turn'd to a pain e're morn.

3

This love, it wa' a bud,
And a secret known to me;
Like a flower within a wood;
Like a nest within a tree.

4

This love, wrong understood,
Oft' turned my joy to pain;
I tried to throw away the bud,

Looky here! — you fellers — you
Poets I'm a-talkin' to, —
Allus rhymin', right er wrong,
'Bout your " little " love, and " long " —
'Pears to me 'at nary one
Of you fellers gits much fun
Out o' lovin' — tryin' to fit
Out some fool-receet fer it! —
Love's as broad as long!

Now, I 'low 'at love's a thing
You cain't jes' set down and sing
Out your order fer, and say
You'll hev yourn a certain way;
And how " long " a slice you'll take,
Er how short — 'cause love don't make

I SO loved once, when Death came by I hid
Away my face,
And all my sweetheart's tresses she undid
To make my hiding-place.

The dread shade passed me thus unheeding; and
I turned me then
To calm my love — kiss down her shielding hand
And comfort her again.

And lo! she answered not: And she did sit
All fixedly,
With her fair face and the sweet smile of it,
In love with Death, not me.

SOMEBODY'S sent a funny little valentine to me.
It's a bunch of baby-roses in a vase of filigree,
And hovering above them — just as cute as he can be —
Is a fairy cupid tangled in a scarf of poetry.

And the prankish little fellow looks so knowing in his glee,
With his golden bow and arrow, aiming most unerringly
At a pair of hearts so labeled that I may read and see
That one is meant for " One Who Loves, " and one is meant for me.
But I know the lad who sent it! It's as plain as A-B-C! —

" Now who shall say he loves me not. "

HE wooed her first in an atmosphere
Of tender and low-breathed sighs;
But the pang of her laugh went cutting clear
To the soul of the enterprise;
" You beg so pert for the kiss you seek
It reminds me, John, " she said,
" Of a poodle pet that jumps to " speak"
For a crumb or a crust of bread. "

And flashing up, with the blush that flushed
His face like a tableau-light,
Came a bitter threat that his white lips hushed
To a chill, hoarse-voiced " Good night! "

WRITTEN IN A POCKET BOOK , 1822.

They tell us of an Indian tree;
Which, howsoe'er the sun and sky
May tempt its boughs to wander free,
And shoot and blossom wide and high,
Far better loves to bend its arms
Downward again to that dear earth,
From which the life that fills and warms
Its grateful being, first had birth
'Tis thus, tho' wooed by flattering friends,

The water sings along our keel,
The wind falls to a whispering breath;
I look into your eyes and feel
No fear of life or death;
So near is love, so far away
The losing strife of yesterday.

We watch the swallow skim and dip;
Some magic bids the world be still;
Life stands with finger upon lip;
Love hath his gentle will;
Though hearts have bled, and tears have burned,
The river floweth unconcerned.

We pray the fickle flag of truce
Still float deceitfully and fair;