love poem

From heaven there fell upon the foaming wave
A timid drop; the flood with anger roar'd,—
But God, its modest boldness to reward,
Strength to the drop and firm endurance gave.
Its form the mussel captive took.
And to its lasting glory and renown,
The pearl now glistens in our monarch's crown,
With gentle gleam and loving look.

Writes he in Neski,
Faithfully speaks he;
Writes he in Talik,
Joy to give, seeks he:
Writes he in either,
Good!—for he loves!

Love for love, and moments sweet,
Lips returning kiss for kiss,
Word for word, and eyes that meet;
Breath for breath, and bliss for bliss.
Thus at eve, and thus the morrow!
Yet thou feelest, at my lay,
Ever some half-hidden sorrow;
Could I Jussuf's graces borrow,
All thy beauty I'd repay!

List , and in memory bear
These six fond loving pair.
Love, when aroused, kept true
Rustan and Rodawu!
Strangers approach from far
Jussuf and Suleika;
Love, void of hope, is in
Ferhad and Schirin.
Born for each other are
Medschnun and Leila;
Loving, though old and grey,
Dschemil saw Boteinah.
Love's sweet caprice anon,
Brown maid and Solomon!
If thou dost mark them well,
Stronger thy love will swell.

I HAVE been there before thee, O my love!
—Each winding way I know and all the flowers,
The shadowy cypress trees, the twilight grove,
—Where rest, in fragrant sleep, the enchanted hours.

I have been there before thee. At the end
—There stands a gate through which thou too must pass.
When thou shalt reach it, God in mercy send
—Thou say no bitterer word, love, than “Alas!”

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom--is to die.

Bright dames when first we meet unheeded passe
We read frail charms on Monuments of Glasse.

In Joylesse Streams the Purple Chrystall flows
Till each is nam'd for whome each Bosom glows.

Then Friendship Love and Wine Unite their fires
Then all their Homage pay, where each admires.

Her breasts, white nuns
Before her eyes—
O hands be
As the smile on a child's face.
Her knees, pale fruit
Whose seed grew from a wish.
Her thighs, boughs of apple blossoms—
O wind blow not too strong.
Her belly, fairy hill of snow.
Her hair, sunlight
In long pale grass limp with dew.
Her voice, sea-mist, wine, flying birds,
White clouds,
Whispers between earth and sky in spring.

This, my love—
She whom I carry
As a bell carries its tongue.
This, my love—
She who makes my days

I have read of the sweet olden story,
Of the fair, happy Eden above;
Of the beautiful mansions of glory,
In the bright golden city of love.
Oh, the sweet olden story
Of the fair, happy Eden above;
Of the beautiful mansions of glory,
In the bright golden city of love.
I have read of the clear sparkling river,
Bursting out 'neath the great throne of God;
How its sweet waters glide on forever,
Making glad all the host of the Lord.
I have read how the banks of that river,
By the saints and the angels are trod,

Let it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone.

Time runs with an ax and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins.

Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and children and people of this love be clean as a washed stone under a waterfall in the sun.

Time is a young man with ballplayer legs, time runs a winning race against life and the clocks, time tickles with rust and spots.