love poem

Alas! your poet loves you: he,
Who dearer is to you, than I,
May better guide you o'er the sea
Of Life, beneath God's threatening sky;
Yet, yet remember this, that he
Can never, never your poet be.

Speak not to me of parting here—
I will not have it so!
One of us may in some dread year,
Some year of chill and snow,
Pass on, but part? By all above,
That we shall never do,
For you are all myself, my Love,
And I am one with you!

You may be called to some far spot,
On some blest errand bent,
And leave me here to moan my lot
In grievous discontent,
But parted? Never! Dire defeat
Dogs those who'd make us two,
For you are all myself, my Sweet,
And I am one with you!

All her charms
are bubbles
from a tilted
cigarette—

And look!
she sees
to light them
his face!

Whereas for us
his sleek
black hair
is hint enough.

“Oh, my thinness is caused by summer heat,”
I answered, and burst into tears.

A lovely bouquet of wild treasures they brought me,
Fresh and sweet from the hedgerow, the marsh, and the brake,
Which lavish such fragrance and brightness around me
That I cannot but love them for fair Beauty's sake.

Osmunda! thou king of all ferns, celebrated
And long-honoured by minstrel in ballad and rhyme,
How welcome thy shade near the cool, rippling streamlet,
'Neath the tall leafy trees in the warm summer-time.

Not less art thou welcome 'mid orchis and iris,
Brilliant blossoms, thy emerald beauty to grace;

I am so happy in Jesus now!
Sin's chain is broken and I am free!
The blessed Saviour I slighted long,
Now has freely pardoned me.
The clouds that once hovered over me,
The worldly troubles and worldly fear,
No more annoy or dishearten me,
Since my blessed Lord is near.
Sins forgiven, yes, all forgiven!
Now I can tell the story
Of his grace and glory,
Hallelujah sing to my Saviour King,
I am happy in his love.
I'll sing upon my pilgrim way,
His mercy and his undying love,
Until I stand 'midst the ransomed ones,

I FEEL that I'm possess'd of nought,
Saving the free unfetter'd thought
Which from my bosom seeks to flow,
And each propitious passing hour
That suffers me in all its power
A loving fate with truth to know.

If you reward my love with love again,
My bliss, my life, my heaven I will deem you;
But if you proudly 'quite it with disdain,
My curse, my death, my hell I must esteem you.

Why weep in the darkness when flame and gold
Lie up in the west, and the hillsides glow
With the opaline light along them rolled,
From the sun that is sinking low?

The surge of the storm sweeping far away,
With its glitter of lightning linked and curled,
Now dashes its tossing and torrent spray
Beyond the cold edge of the world.

And the flowers that bent down before its blast,
Now open their eyes to the brilliant sun;
And from tears by the storm-clouds on them cast,
A glorious garment is spun.

At sunset I strolled out of the front gate
Not far from me, I spied you passing by
Such clouds of hair around your lovely face,
Its fragrance filled the very road you trod.