love poem

The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best
Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs,
'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest,
An' the worst to learn, an' the last one guessed,
An' the funniest one, an' the foolishest. —
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

I don't know what in the world it means —
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! —

Loud sung the wind in the ruins above
Which murmured the warnings of time o'er our head,
While fearless we offered devotions to love,
The rude rock our pillow, the rushes our bed!

Damp was the chill of the wintery air,
But it made us cling closer, and warmly unite;
Dread was the lightning, and horrid its glare,
But it showed me my Julia in languid delight.

To my bosom she nestled and felt not a fear
Though the shower did beat and the tempest did frown;
Her sighs were as sweet and her murmurs as dear

I dreamed again, and lo, a solemn glory
Transfigured earth and sea;
The vibrant universe revealed a story
Of love and power to me.
Oh, never was such light on earth beholden,
Save when the sacred gleam,
Upon the spirits of the seers olden,
Breathed mystery and dream.

I think that haply angel hands had chanced
The door of some bright zone
Of heaven to open, so to me there glanced
The radiance of the throne.
'Twas not as earth-light that must go unbending
Into the fields afar,

I dreamed that I was God, the great All-seeing;
The ceaseless urge was mine
That fires the throbbing, blood-red heart of Being,
The Alchemist divine.
I saw and knew that lesser good is evil,
The evil lesser good;
That love can change the basest hell-upheaval
To human brotherhood.

I heard the tramp of onward-marching nations,
I saw their mirth and tears;
I felt the passions of the generations
That thundered down the years;
I clashed as foe with foeman, fire-hearted,
I heard the war-guns boom,

A QUARRELI WITH LOUE

O H that I could write a story
Of Loues dealing with affection:
How hee makes the spirit sory,
That is toucht with his infection.

But he doth so closely winde him
In the plaits of will ill pleased,
That the heart can neuer finde him
Till it be too much diseased.

Tis a subtill kinde of spirit,
Of a venome kinde of nature;
That can like a conny ferret,
Creepe vnwares vpon a creature.

Neuer eye that can beholde it,

A FAREWELL TO CONCEIPT

Farewell Conceit: Coceit no more wel fare:
Hope feeds the heart with humours, to no end:
Fortune is false, in dealing of her share:
Virtue in heauen must only seeke a friend.

Adieu, Desire. Desire, no more adieu
Will hath no leasure to regard desart:
Love findes, too late, the prouerbe all too true,
That Beauties eyes stoode neuer in her heart.

Away, poore Loue. Loue, seek no more a way
Vnto thy woe, where wishing is no wealth:

AD ISPLEASURE AGAINST L OUE .

Love is witty, but not wise,
When he stares on Beauties eyes;
Finding wonders in conceit
That doe fall out but deceit.

Wit is stable, but not staied,
When his senses are betraied;
Where too late Sorrow doth proue
Beauty makes a foole of Loue.

Youth is forward, but too fond.
When he falles in Cupids bond;
Where repentance lets him see
Fancy fast is neuer free.

Age is cunning, but vnkinde,
When he once growes Cupid -blinde:
For when Beauty is vntoward,

A FAREWELL TO LOUE

Farewell Loue, and louing folly
All thy thoughts are too vnholly:
Beauty strikes thee full of blindenesse
And then kils thee with vnkindnesse.

Farewell wit, and witty reason
All betrai'd by Fancies treason:
Loue hath of all joy bereft thee.
And to Sorrow only left thee.

Farewell will, and wilfull fancy,
All in daunger of a frenzy,
Love to Beauties bowe hath wonne thee
And togither all vndone thee.

Farewell Beauty Sorrowes agent;

Inscrib'd to the Right Honourable the Lady ELIZABETH GERMAIN .

I Sought a patroness, but sought in vain,
Apollo whisper'd in my ear — " Germain . —
I know her not — " Your reason's somewhat odd;
" Who knows his patron, now! reply'd the God.
" Men write, to me , and to the world , unknown;
" Then steal great names to shield them from the Town.
" Detected worth , like beauty disarray'd,
" To covert flies, of praise itself afraid;
" Should she refuse to patronize your lays,
" In vengeance write a Volume in her praise .

Nor reigns Ambition in bold man alone;
Soft female hearts the rude Invader own,
But, there indeed, it deals in nicer things
Than routing armies , and dethroning kings .
Attend, and you discern it in the Fair
Conduct a finger , or reclaim a hair ;
Or roll the lucid orbit of an eye ;
Or in full joy elaborate a sigh .

The Sex we honour, tho' their faults we blame;
Nay thank their faults for such a fruitful theme.
A theme, fair — — ! doubly kind to me,
Since fatarizing those , is praising thee;