love poem

"Tell me, kind Seer, I pray thee,
"So may the stars obey thee
"So may each airy
"Moon-elf and fairy
"Nightly their homage pay thee!
"Say, by what spell, above, below,
"In stars that wink or flowers that blow,
"I may discover,
"Ere night is over,
"Whether my love loves me, or no,
"Whether my love loves me."

"Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee
"Hath charms no gold could buy thee;
"Its stem enchanted.
"By moon-elves planted,
"Will all thou seek'st supply thee.

Oh, teach me to love Thee, to feel what thou art,
Till, filled with the one sacred image, my heart
Shall all other passions disown;
Like some pure temple that shines apart,
Reserved for Thy worship alone.

In joy and in sorrow, thro' praise and thro' blame,
Thus still let me, living and dying the same,
In Thy service bloom and decay--
Like some lone altar whose votive flame
In holiness wasteth away.

Tho' born in this desert, and doomed by my birth
To pain and affliction, to darkness and dearth,

Angel of Charity, who, from above,
Comest to dwell a pilgrim here,
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
And Pity's soul is in thy tear.
When on the shrine of God were laid
First-fruits of all most good and fair,
That ever bloomed in Eden's shade,
Thine was the holiest offering there.

Hope and her sister, Faith, were given
But as our guides to yonder sky;
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven,
There, lost in perfect bliss, they die.
But, long as Love, Almighty Love,

Who is the Maid my spirit seeks,
Thro' cold reproof and slander's blight?
Has she Love's roses on her cheeks?
Is hers an eye of this world's light?
No--wan and sunk with midnight prayer
Are the pale looks of her I love;
Or if at times a light be there,
Its beam is kindled from above.

I chose not her, my heart's elect,
From those who seek their Maker's shrine
In gems and garlands proudly decked,
As if themselves were things divine.
No--Heaven but faintly warms the breast

If thou wouldst have thy charms enchant our eyes,
First win our hearts, for there thy empire lies:
Beauty in vain would mount a heartless throne,
Her Right Divine is given by Love alone.

What would the rose with all her pride be worth,
Were there no sun to call her brightness forth?
Maidens, unloved, like flowers in darkness thrown,
Wait but that light which comes from Love alone.

Fair as thy charms in yonder glass appear,
Trust not their bloom, they'll fade from year to year:

If I speak to thee in friendship's name,
Thou think'st I speak too coldly;
If I mention Love's devoted flame,
Thou say'st I speak too boldly.
Between these two unequal fires,
Why doom me thus to hover?
I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires,
If more thou seek'st, a lover.
Which shall it be? How shall I woo?
Fair one, choose between the two.

Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play,
When first he comes to woo thee,
There's a chance that he may fly away,
As fast as he flies to thee.

When Love is kind,
Cheerful and free,
Love's sure to find
Welcome from me.

But when Love brings
Heartache or pang,
Tears, and such things--
Love may go hang!

If Love can sigh
For one alone,
Well pleased am I
To be that one,

But should I see
Love given to rove
To two or three,
Then--good by Love!

Love must, in short,
Keep fond and true,
Thro' good report,
And evil too.

Else, here I swear,
Young Love may go.
For aught I care--

If in loving, singing, night and day
We could trifle merrily life away,
Like atoms dancing in the beam,
Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream,
Or summer blossoms, born to sigh
Their sweetness out, and die--
How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side,
Thou and I could make our minutes glide!
No atoms ever glanced so bright,
No day-flies ever danced so light,
Nor summer blossoms mixt their sigh,
So close, as thou and I!

Tho' 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still, when happiest, soonest o'er,
Yet, even in a dream, to be blest
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more.
The bosom that opes
With earliest hopes,
The soonest finds those hopes untrue:
As flowers that first
In spring-time burst
The earliest wither too!
Ay--'tis all but a dream, etc.

Tho' by friendship we oft are deceived,
And find love's sunshine soon o'ercast,
Yet friendship will still be believed.
And love trusted on to the last.

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale,
And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale
I from my casement lean.
"Come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say,
"Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!"
Never to mortal ear
Could words, tho' warm they be,
Speak Passion's language half so clear
As do those notes to me!

Then quick my own light lute I seek,
And strike the chords with loudest swell;
And, tho' they naught to others speak,