love poems for her

I love and love not: Lord, it breaks my heart
To love and not to love.
Thou veiled within Thy glory, gone apart
Into Thy shrine, which is above,
Dost Thou not love me, Lord, or care
For this mine ill?—
I love thee here or there,
I will accept thy broken heart, lie still.

Lord, it was well with me in time gone by
That cometh not again,
When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I?
I fresh, I cheerful: worn with pain
Now, out of sight and out of heart;
O Lord, how long?—
I watch thee as thou art,

Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame
That at the whisper of Love's name,
Or Beauty's, presto! up you raise
Your angry head and stand at gaze?

Poor bombard-captain, sworn to reach
The ravelin and effect a breach--
Indifferent what you storm or why,
So be that in the breach you die!

Love may be blind, but Love at least
Knows what is man and what mere beast;
Or Beauty wayward, but requires
More delicacy from her squires.

Tell me, my witless, whose one boast

Dove sta amore
Where lies love
Dove sta amore
Here lies love
The ring dove love
In lyrical delight
Hear love's hillsong
Love's true willsong
Love's low plainsong
Too sweet painsong
In passages of night
Dove sta amore
Here lies love
The ring dove love
Dove sta amore
Here lies love

Don't wake me up vigorously, O Madhukar!
You will break my delicate waist, my love!
As if smeared with vermilion
My lips have turned crimson with your bites!

I swear, I am exhausted and about to drop,
But the wicked one does not listen to me!
Don't wake me up vigorously, O Madhukar!
You will break my delicate waist, my love!

My eyes have kept awake for four dawns and nights I pray I implore!
Narsinh’s lord much as you may trouble me in the bed,
It is still not enough!

THREE summers have gone since the first time we met, love,
And still 'tis in vain that I ask thee to wed ;
I hear no reply but a gentle " Not yet, love,"
With a smile of your lip, and a shake of your head.
Ah ! how oft have I whispered, how oft have I sued thee,
And breathed my soul's question of " When shall it be ?"
You know, dear, how long and how truly I've wooed thee,
So don't tell the world that you're waiting for me.

I have fashioned a home, where the fairies might dwell, love,

Don't say he loves me as before,
That, as before, he treasures me...
no! He callously destroys my life,
Although I see the knife shake in his hand.

In anger, weeping, yearning, indignation,
Obsessed and wounded in my soul,
I have no life - I struggle...for him alone I live -
But what a life!.. O, what a bitter life it is!

How stingily he measures out the air for me...
Less generous than to a mortal foe...
Oh, drawing breath is difficult and painful,

Don’t give a dose to the one you love most.
Give her some marmalade...give her some toast.
You can give her the willies or give her the blues.
But the dose that you give her will get back to youse.

I once had a lady as sweet as a song.
She was my darlin’, and she was my dear.
But she had a dose, and she passed it along.
Now she’s gone, but the dose is still there.

So, don’t give a dose to the one you love most.
Give her some marmalade...give her some toast.
You can give her a partiridge up in a pear tree,

Oh! little pink and white god of love,
With your tender smiling mouth,
And eyes as blue as the blue above,
Afar in the sunny south.

No army e'er laid so many low
Or wounded so many hearts,
No mighty gunner e'er wrought such woe
As you with your feathered darts.

I.
'BESIDE the nuptial curtain bright'
The Bard of Eden sings,
'Young Love his constant lamp will light,
'And wave his purple wings.'
But rain-drops from the clouds of care
May bid that lamp be dim,
And the boy Love will pout and swear
'Tis then no place for him.

II
So mused the lovely Mrs. Dash;
'Tis wrong to mention names;
When for her surly husband's cash
She urged in vain her claims.
I want a little money, dear,
'For Vandervoort and Flandin,
Their bill, which now has run a year,

Love is the Lord whom I obey,
Whose will transported I perform;
The centre of my rest, my stay,
Love's all in all to me, myself a worm.

For uncreated charms I burn,
Oppressed by slavish fear no more,
For One in whom I may discern,
E'en when he frowns, a sweetness I adore.

He little loves him who complains,
And finds him rigorous and severe;
His heart is sordid, and he feigns,
Though loud in boasting of a soul sincere.

Love causes grief, but 'tis to move
And stimulate the slumbering mind;