love poem

Cock Robin got up early
At the break of day,
And went to Jenny's window
To sing a roundelay,
He sang Cock Robin's love
To the little Jenny Wren,
And when he got unto the end,
Then he began again.

Clasp her and hold her and love her,
— Here in the arching green
Of boughs that bend above her
— With belts of blue between.

Clasp her and hold her and love her,
— Swift! Ere the splendor dies;
The blue grows black above her,
— The earth in shadow lies.

Flowers of dream enfold her.
— Soft! Let me bend above,
Clasp her and love her and hold her,
— Clasp her and hold and love.

Child of the frightened face,
Trying to understand
The little bit of love
Under your hand,

Holding the little love
Under fingers that crush
That which is soft as the
Throat of a thrush,

Holding your hand upon
The wonder of the thing,
Crushing out the song that
Wanted to sing:

Child of the frightened face,
Why do your fingers try
To kill the little love?
Soon it would die.

Charm of my life, my dearest care,
Never, O never here I swear,
Within my cradling arms has lain
Your like, nor ever will again.
Give me your willing lips that I
May taste the honey of the vine,
And give me when I ask for wine
The cup in which your kisses lie.

And if--ah, if--my sweetest sweet,
With love as true my love you greet,
A greater joy than mortals know
Within my heart will flame and grow;
O not so rapt in godlike bliss
In his high halls is Jove indeed
When in his arms young Ganymede

Bury it, and sift
Dust upon its light, —
Death must not be left,
To offend the sight.

Cover the old love —
Weep not on the mound —
Grass shall grow above,
Lilies spring around.

Can we fight the law,
Can our natures change —
Half-way through withdraw —
Other lives exchange?

You and I must do
As the world has done,
There is nothing new
Underneath the sun.

Fill the grave up full —
Put the dead love by —
Not that men are dull,

1. The birds of the forest are calling for thee And the
shades and the glades are lonely; Summer is there with her blossoms
fair, And you are absent only. No
bird that nests in the green-wood tree But sighs to greet you and
kiss you, All the violets yearn, yearn for your safe return, But
most of all I miss you.
2. The fawn that you tamed has a look in its eyes That doth
say " We are too long parted; " Songs that are trolled by our comrades
old Are not now as they were light hearted. The

I've known fancies turn into dreaming,
but never believed a dream could be like this:
she was fair, fair, immaculate,
she was pure, pure perfection,
as she sat, intimate, by hibiscus cushions,
as she turned back the joy-of-love quilt,
and her elegant footsteps were so lovely,
her whispered words most enchanting.
What I describe didn't seem to happen fast,
but then, strangely, became a momentary thing,
and I woke to nothingness,
aware that all is empty illusion.

Yes, she's a good dog,
lived four or five years
within his crimson gates,

fur sweet-smelling,
feet quite clean,
master affectionate.

Then by chance she
took a nip
and bit a well-loved guest

Now she no longer sleeps
upon his red silk rugs.

Awake, my heart, to be loved, awake, awake!
The darkness silvers away, the morn doth break,
It leaps in the sky: unrisen lustres slake
The o'ertaken moon. Awake, O heart, awake!

She too that loveth awaketh and hopes for thee;
Her eyes already have sped the shades that flee,
Already they watch the path thy feet shall take:
Awake, O heart, to be loved, awake, awake!

And if thou tarry from her, — if this could be, —
She cometh herself, O heart, to be loved, to thee;
For thee would unashamed herself forsake:

At first awhile sits he,
With calm, unruffled brow;
His features then I see,
Distorted hideously, —
An owl's they might be now.
What is it, askest thou?
Is't love, or is't ennui?
'Tis both at once, I vow.