love poem

The black-winged gull
of love is flying—
hurl of the waters'
futile might!

Tirelessly
his deft strokes plying
he skims free in the licking
waves' despite—

There is no lying
to his shrill mockery
of their torment

You go a long and lovely journey,
For all the stars, like burning dew,
Are luminous and luring footprints
Of souls adventurous as you.

Oh, if you lived on earth elated,
How is it now that you can run
Free of the weight of flesh, and faring
Far past the birthplace of the sun?

All Nature hath its voice.—The meadows have their message.
The river leaping down the rocky narrow passage
Hath its own voice and heart.
Each star hath its own voice, each sun its speech excelling;
The fountain its soft voice of mystery upward welling.
Tongued is the lightning's dart.

Each poet hath his word.—Some in triumphant measure
Sing of the reign of sweet old-world Saturnian pleasure:
Some thunder like the sea.
I sing of Love, Love, Love. I give the world for token
The message that strong Love with sweetness never broken

I live and love as others do
But seldom have the face to woo
A rosy cheek a snowy breast
Doth steal away my tranquil rest
A silent pain my heart doth fill
It pants within but does not kill
Love's a tormenting thing to seek
Withering a heart it cannot break

That face is fair so very fair
Brighter her eyes than others are
And to my eyes those locks so curled
More beautiful than all the world
That form for ever haunteth me
Nought like to it I ever see
Those swelling breasts like billows rise

Jane why dont ye love Jane
In your own sweet arms love come and enfold me
For your face like the Rose is the sweetest that glows
It does my heart good to behold thee
Love—Love Jinney dear
Tis the spring o the year
O let me kiss thy sweet face and enfold thee
Let me lean on thy breast
And be lov'd into rest
For it does my soul good to behold thee
Jane—Jane—why dont ye love Jane
Little lambs love their Mithers and lay by their side
Twa double white Lilies they're full o will nill is
Let them be natures and dress like a bride

I love to hear the uproar of the wind
Amidst the forrest foliage hoarsely rave
But like all joys it leaves a pain behind
As falling leaves grow summons for the grave

How sweet does the hour seem When the sun's gone bed
And gay clouds soft as dreams O'er the south west spread
When the bee sleeps till morn Where thistles adorn
The lane banks by the hedges All summered wi dew
Dragon flies on the sedges
But where love are you.

Our choice hour of meeting Youve let it go by
Me the woodbine is greeting But lonely am I
The bees on the thistle Where grass crickets whistle
And lady birds creeping Regardless o' dew
With nature they're keeping
But where love are you.

O Caradora bonny maid
I'll never have my will o thee
To speak thy name I'm half afraid
And why I have no eyes to see
I've felt thy love and bore the blame
Thy two rich eyes were life to me
But never can I see the shame
Or feel it sin in loving thee.

Thy big bright eye thy happy smile
Is heaven and I know the place
No meaner joy can me beguile
While I am gazeing on thy face
How sweet her ancles and her legs
Her lips were coral streaked with light
Her neck was white as ring doves eggs

I love the raving winds, the murky gloom
And I love the sea
When ocean billows burst in frothy hum
And where they silent be
I love the rough and smooth of nature's voice
The quiet, and the rude
For Nature never had unpleasant voice
But sweet as Solitude

I love the tumult in the forest trees
And wood winds to hear
In nature's soul of quiet sympathies
There—ther's nought to fear
Nothing creating pain or harm
And no noises rude
The loud tongued thunder is a lovely charm
A companion in solitude—

White cloud-wonders waver and wander,
White mists rising and falling yonder
Are like chill fingers laid upon my heart;
Ever the nightingale's plaint grows fonder—
Can it be true that you and I must part?

Red, red roses hang in a cluster,
Red lips glow in the wine-cup's lustre;
Stay me, before I go, with wine and bread!
Round me an army of shadows muster
And weave a veil of darkness for my head.

Will o' the wisp before me flying,
Pale sad faces like faint flames dying—
I walk alone beside a spectral mere;