love poem

" She was beautiful in life And beautiful in death. "

Gone, with all her sparkling beauty,
Gone, with innocence and youth;
Gone, with loving ways and kindness,
Gone, with happiness and truth.

In the tomb they gently laid her —
Even strangers dropped a tear;
And one heart will feel the anguish
Of her loss for many a year.

Father, mother, loving sisters,
Deeply mourn the lov'd and lost;

1.

" Get down, get down, loving Henry, " she said,
" And stay all night with me;
But there's another girl in the Urgent land,
That you love better than me. "

2.

" I could get down if I would get down,
And stay all night with you,
But there is a girl in the Urgent land
That I love better than you. "

3.

As he leaned over his saddle skirts,
To kiss her rosy cheeks,

VERSE 1

Gee, but it's tough to be broke, kid,
It's not a joke, kid, it's a curse.
My luck is changing, it's gotten
From simply rotten to something worse.
Who knows, someday I will win, too.
I'll begin to reach my prime;
Now though I see what our end is,
All I can spend is just my time.

REFRAIN

I can't give you anything but love,
Baby,
That's the only thing I've plenty of,
Baby.
Dream a while, scheme a while,
We're sure to find

From the small life that loves with tooth and nail
To the thorn'd brow that makes the heavens pale.

From the madding crowd they stand apart,
The maidens four and the Work of Art;

And none might tell from sight alone
In which had culture ripest grown, —

The Gotham Millions fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,

The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the Soulful Soul from Kalamazoo, —

For all loved Art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
...

Long they worshipped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke

The Western one from the nameless place,

For shame, thou everlasting Woer,
Still saying Grace and ne're fall to her!
Love that's in Contemplation plac't,
Is Venus drawn but to the Wast.
Unlesse your Flame confesse its Gender,
And your Parley cause surrender,
Y'are Salamanders of a cold desire,
That live untouch't amid the hottest fire.

What though she be a Dame of stone,
The Widow of Pigmalion ;
As hard and un-relenting She,
As the new-crusted Niobe ;
Or what doth more of Statue carry
A Nunne of the Platonick Quarrey?

For many unsuccessful years
At Cynthia's feet I lay;
And often bath'd them with my tears,
Despair'd, but durst not pray.

No prostrate wretch, before the shrine
Of any saint above,
E'er thought his goddess more divine,
Or paid more awful love.

Still the disdainful dame look'd down
With an insulting pride;
Receiv'd my passion with a frown,
Or toss'd her head aside.

When Cupid whisper'd in my ear,
"Use more prevailing charms,
Fond, whining, modest fool, draw near,

For love he offered me his perfect world.
This world was so constricted, and so small,
It had no sort of loveliness at all,
And I flung back the little silly ball.
At that cold moralist I hotly hurled
His perfect, pure, symmetrical, small world.

Ode

I

Fond Love, deliver up thy Bow,
I am becom more Love than thou;
I am a wanton growne, and wild,
Much lesse a Man, and more a Child,
From Venus borne, of chaster kind,
A better Archer, though as blind.

II

Surrender without more adoe,
I am both King and Subject too,
I will comand, but must obey,
I am the Hunter, and the Prey,
I vanquish, yet am over come,
And sentencing, receive my doom.

III

No springing Beauty scapes my dart,

The first day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me
A partridge in a pear tree.

The second day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me
Two turtle doves,
A partridge in a pear tree.

The third day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me
Three French hens,
Two turtle doves, and
A partridge in a pear tree.

The fourth day of Christmas,
My true love sent to me
Four colly birds,
Three French hens
Two turtle doves, and
A partridge in a pear tree.