love poem

Once I was young, and fancy was my all,
My love, my joy, my grief, my hope, my fear,
And ever ready as an infant's tear,
Whate'er in Fancy's kingdom might befal,
Some quaint device had Fancy still at call,
With seemly verse to greet the coming cheer;
Such grief to soothe, such airy hope to rear,
To sing the birth-song, or the funeral,
Of such light love, it was a pleasant task;
But ill accord the quirks of wayward glee,
That wears affliction for a wanton mask,
With woes that bear not Fancy's livery;

Lord God, I have been guilty in my life,
Yet worshiped Beauty, and aspire to make
A work that shall have love and faith, heart-break,
Passion and joy and triumph after strife,
And all the glow wherewith the sky is rife.

And I implore thee, Master, for the sake
Of this, the longing of my soul, to give
Thy potent aid: since thou art pain and bliss
And faith and love and everything that is.
Look down upon my work and let it live
And be for ever lovely; and for this
Great boon of thine, I swear to do Thy will

The meteor's arc of quiet; a voiceless rain;
The mist's mute communing with a stagnant moat;
The sigh of a flower that has neglected lain;
That bell's unuttered note:

A hidden self rebels, its slumber broken;
Love secret as crystal forms within the womb;
The heart may as faithfully beat, the vow unspoken;
All sounds to silence come.

T HERE'S nae lark loves the lift, my dear,
———There's nae ship loves the sea,
There's nae bee loves the heather-bells,
———That loves as I love thee, my love,
———That loves as I love thee.

The whin shines fair upon the fell,
———The blithe broom on the lea:
The muirside wind is merry at heart:
———It's a' for love of thee, my love,
———It's a' for love of thee.

Come let's goo down the grove to-night;
The moon is up, 'tis all so light
As day, an' win' do blow enough
To sheäke the leaves, but tiddèn rough.
Come, Esther, teäke, vor wold time's seäke,
Your hooded cloke, that's on the pin,
An' wrap up warm, an' teäke my eärm,
You'll vind it better out than in.
Come, Etty dear; come out o' door,
An' teäke a sweetheart's walk woonce mwore.

How charmèn to our very souls,
Wer woonce your evenèn maïden strolls,
The while the zettèn zunlight dyed
Wi' red the beeches' western zide,

Love is not love that cannot stand and say,
“What I have suffered I would bear again
And ten times more, if so the slightest pain
From finger-tip of thine to soothe away
I might be able, pleasure to convey
In tiniest crimson tingle of a vein:
Yea, sweetheart, stony-hearted would remain
Unloved, unkissed, for ever and a day,
If so the Beauty might be nearer brought
That I have seen between the palms of dreams.”
Till we are one with our ideal gleams,
And bear upon our brows the rainbow sought

Wilt thou my true Friend be?
Then love not mine, but me.

My wife and I lived all alone,
contention was our only bone.
I fought with her, she fought with me,
and things went on right merrily.

But now I live here by myself
with hardly a damn thing on the shelf,
and pass my days with little cheer
since I have parted from my dear.

Oh come home soon, I write to her.
Go screw yourself, is her answer.
Now what is that, for Christian word?
I hope she feeds on dried goose turd.

But still I love her, yes I do.
I love her and the children too.

Love's kisses spurned so long ago,
Dead as the years, that o'er them flow;—
And now, my gilded treasuries
Would I might give—for memories.

I dance to forget life,
For I have had enough of love and roses,
And I would feel the blood riot in my veins
Warm as a Summer wind!

Bring the music!
Let us dance till our dreams lie dead,
And the haggard dawn shivers
On the shining floor!

Let there be wild song
And false mirth to fill the heavy air;
As careless boys in carnival
Let us be glad!

Let me be full of rhythm
Until I am drunk unto forgetting!
Unfurl the pageant of color
That I may drown therein.

I dance to forget life,