love poem

I DO not love to see your beauty fire
The light of eager love in every eye,
Nor the unconscious ardor of desire
Mantle a cheek when you are passing by;
When in the loud world's giddy thoroughfare
Your holy loveliness is noised about—
Lips that my love has prayed to—the gold hair
Where I have babbled all my secrets out—
O then I would I had you in my arms,
Desolate, lonely, broken, and forlorn,
Stripped of your splendor, spoiled of all your charms;
So that my love might prove her haughty scorn—

Would we but love what will not pass away!
The sun that on each morning shines as clear
As when it rose first on the world's first year;
The fresh green leaves that rustle on the spray.
The sun will shine, the leaves will be as gay
When graves are full of all our hearts held dear,
When not a soul of those who loved us here,
Not one, is left us—creatures of decay.

Yea, love the Abiding in the Universe
Which was before, and will be after us.
Nor yet for ever hanker and vainly cry

When, lo, by break of morning
My love herself adorning
Doth walk the woods so dainty,
Gath'ring sweet violets and cowslips plenty,
The birds enamoured sing and praise my Flora:
Lo, here a new Aurora!

Under battle-flags stained and torn,
Lie gifts from loyal hearts and hands,
Eager to answer love's demands,
And labor even while they mourn.

There is no need to vaunt these wares,
Wrought by man, maid, widow, wife,
For those who ventured limb and life,
Followed by loving hopes and prayers.

Memories born of place and time,
Serve those who keep their holiday
In camp, or hospital, or fray,
Where rings for them no Christmas chime.

Surely there is no heart so cold,
It will not freely give its mite

Under the broken clouds of dawn,
The white leopards eat the grapes
In my vineyard.
And in the sunken splendour of twilight,
The ring pheasants perch among the red fruit
Of my pomegranate trees.
The bright coloured varnish
Scales off the wheels of my chariots,
For the horses which should draw them
Have gone Northward in a gloom of spears.
My stablemen march,
Each with a two-edged spear upon his shoulder,
And my orchard tenders have put on the green feathered helmets
And girt themselves with blacks bows.

From glorious Nature's myriad tongues
Though songs be breathed by lips of love,
And though the maiden's fingers fair
Across the thrilling harp-strings rove,
Of all earth's sounds, there is no other
So lovely as the name of brother.

Clasp hands, for we are brothers dear,
Of old by tempest rent apart;
The dark designs of cruel Fate
Shall fail, when heart is joined to heart.
What sound, beneath the stars aflame,
So lovely as a brother's name?

And when our ancient Mother-Land
Beholds her children side by side,

Blind brutal Boy that with thy bou abuses
Leill leisome Love by Lechery and lust,
Judge Jackanapis and Jougler maist unjust
If in thy rageing resone thou refuises;
To be thy chiftanes changers ay thou chuisis
To beir thy baner, so they be robust.
Fals Tratur Turk betrayer under trust
Why maks thou Makrels of the Modest Muses?
Art thou a God; no, bot a Gok disguysit,
A bluiter buskit lyk a belly blind,
With wings and quaver waving with the wind,
A plane playmear for Vanitie devysit.

Little Sally Sand
Sittin' in the sand,
Weepin', cryin'
For a young man,

Rise, Sally, rise,
Wipe your dirty eyes,
Turn to the east and turn to the west,
And turn to the one that you love best.

All you that have indulgent Parents been
And have your Children in perfection seen
Of youth and beuty; lend one Teare to mee
And trust mee I will doe as much for thee
Unlesse my own griefe do exhaust my store
Then will I sigh till I suspire noe more
Twice hath the earth Thrown Cloris Mantle by
Imbroidered or'e with Curious Tapestry
And twice hath seem'd to mourn unto our sight
Like Jewes, or Chinesses in snowey white
Since shee laid down her milkey limbs on Earth
Which dying gave her virgin Soule new birth