love poem

Where is that Learned Wretch that knows
What are those Darts the Veyl'd God throws?
O let him tell me ere I dye
When 'twas he saw or heard them fly;
Whether the Sparrows Plumes, or Doves,
Wing them for various Loves;
And whether Gold, or Lead,
Quicken, or dull the Head:
I will annoint and keep them warm,
And make the Weapons heale the Harm.

Fond that I am to aske! who ere
Did yet see thought? or Silence hear?
Safe from the search of humane Eye
These Arrows (as their waies are) flie:

Ere Love from barren Chaos drew the skies,
Piercing its womb that hid the light of day,
Beneath primæval earth's and water's sway
The shapeless Heavens lay whelmed, in dark disguise.

Even so my sluggish soul, too dull to rise,
Within this body's gross and heavy clay
Without or form or feature shapeless lay
Until Love's arrow pierced it from your eyes.

Love brought me life and power and truth and light,
Made pure my inmost heart through his control,
And shaped my being to a perfect whole.

And if she should ask,
“Look how drenched through
they are—
the sleeves of your robe!
What is it
that has made them so?”
how am I to reply?

Boïdion and Pythias make
Their gifts to thee: dear Cypris, take
These zones and pictures, for in love
The flute-girls oft their skill did prove.
Sailors and merchants know full well
How fair they were, how amiable,
And from full purse would gladly pay
For these bright zones and pictures gay.

I loved thee ere I loved a woman, Love.

My love will end
in hopelessness—
these longing sighs
I bring on myself
are empty as the cicada's shell

Lassie I love thee
The heavens above thee
Look downwards to move thee
And prove my love true
My arms round thy waist love
My head on thy breast love
By a true man cares[s]t love
Ne'er bid me adieu

Thy cheeks full o' blushes
Like the rose in the bushes
In a love stream it gushes
With over delight
Though clouds may come o'er thee
Sweet maid I'll adore thee
As I do now before thee
I Love thee outright

It stings me to madness
To see thee all gladness
While I'm full o sadness

To one full sound and silently
That slept, there came a heavy cry,
‘Awake, arise! for thou hast slain
A man.’ ‘Yea, have I to mine own pain,’

He answer'd; ‘but of ill intent
And malice am I, that naught forecast,
As is the babe innocent.
From sudden anger our strife grew:
I hated not, in times past,
Him whom unwittingly I slew.’

‘If it be thus indeed, thy case
Is hard,’ they said; ‘for thou must die,
Unless with the Judge thou canst find grace.
Hast thou, in thine extremity,

Love heeds no more the sighing of the wind
Against the perfect flowers: thy garden's close
Is grown a wilderness, where none shall find
One strayed, last petal of one last year's rose.

O bright, bright hair! O mouth like a ripe fruit!
Can famine be so nigh to harvesting?
Love, that was songful, with a broken lute
In grass of graveyards goeth murmuring.

Let the wind blow against the perfect flowers,
And all thy garden change and glow with spring:
Love is grown blind with no more count of hours

Love in my heart: oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Love is my tyrant, Love is supreme.
What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Love is a phantom, and Life is a dream!

What if he changeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
Oh, can the waters be void of the wind?
What if he wendeth afar and apart from me,
What if he leave me to perish behind?

What if he passeth, oh, heart of me, heart of me!
A flame i' the dusk, a breath of Desire?
Nay, my sweet Love is the heart and the soul of me