love poems for her

From oversea—
Violets for memories,
I send to thee;

Let them bear thoughts of me,
With pleasant memories
To touch the heart of thee,
Far oversea.

A little way it is for love to flee,
Love wing'd with memories,
Hither to thither overseas

'T IS a child of phansie's getting,
Brought up between hope and fear,
Fed with smiles, grown by uniting
Strong, and so kept by desire;

'Tis a perpetual vestal fire
Never dying,
Whose smoak like incense doth aspire
Upwards flying.

'Tis a soft magnetique stone
Attracting hearts by sympathie,
Binding up close two souls in one,
Both discoursing secretlie:

'Tis the true Gordian knot that tyes
Yet ne'er unbinds,
Fixing thus two lovers eyes
As wel as mindes.

" Trust love even if it brings sorrow.
Do not close up your heart. "
" Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them. "

" The heart is only for giving away with a tear and a song, my love. "
" Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them. "

" Pleasure is frail like a dewdrop, while it laughs it dies.
But sorrow is strong and abiding. Let sorrowful love wake in your eyes. "
" Ah no, my friend, your words are dark, I cannot understand them. "

In vain does Hymen, with religious vows
Oblige his slaves to wear his chains with ease;
A privilege alone that Love allows,
'Tis Love alone can make our fetters please.

The angry tyrant lays his yoke on all,
Yet in his fiercest rage is charming still;
Officious Hymen comes whene'er we call,
But haughty Love comes only when he will.

All love, at first, like gen'rous wine,
Ferments and frets, until 'tis fine;
But when 'tis settled on the lee,
And from th' impurer matter free,
Becomes the richer still, the older,
And proves the pleasanter, the colder.
Love is too great a happiness
For wretched mortals to possess:
For, could it hold inviolate
Against those cruelties of Fate,
Which all felicities below
By rigid laws are subject to,
It would become a bliss too high
For perishing mortality,
Translate to earth the joys above;

In a grove of ilex
Of oak and of chestnut,
Far on the sunswept
Heights of Tusculum,
There groweth a blossom,
A snow-white bloom,
Which many have heard of,
But few have seen.
Oft bright as the morning,
Oft pale as moonlight,
There in the greenness,
In shadow and sunshine
It grows, awaiting
The hand that shall pluck it:
For this blossom springeth
From the heart of a poet
And of her who loved him
In the long ago,
Here on the sunswept
Heights of Tusculum.
And them it awaiteth,

'Tis true , that me , with roses crown'd,
The tear of Sympathy has found,
 And been at once obey'd:
That Pleasure's light, and Beauty's flower,
Have sunk—when pale Misfortune's hour
 Implor'd Compassion's aid.

'Tis true , that in the moral grief
I never ask'd or wish'd relief,
 Nor envy'd playful ease:
But Love the miracle has wrought,
And Love the feeling bosom taught
 How dearly Pain can please!

Sweet Innocent! what Angel's hand shall guide
Those tempting beauties, that will soon inflame
The amorous Libertine to vice and shame,
Polluting what he loves — the maiden's pride —
With arts, or gifts, that subtle counsels hide,
And rebel passions, that ascendant claim;
Which nothing but the sad reverse can tame
Of infamy — to penitence allied? —
Beware of Man! till Honour gives the word
Of ripe assent, improv'd by Love's delay; —
The word, that choice and sympathy have bound

To thee, Sennuccio! fearless I can paint
The habit of a life that shuns repose:
My heart with its accustom'd passion glows; —
'Tis Laura's yet; — nor strong my hopes, nor faint,
But varied ever — as that lovely Saint
In light or shade my fond attachment throws.
Her delicacy's temper'd sweetness knows
The charm which no mis-construing thought can taint;
Which blames, and yet approves: — to-day , the soft
Endearments reign — the Loves their influence breathe;
To morrow , distant and reserv'd her air —

So glides along the wanton Brook
With gentle pace into the Mayne,
Courting the bankes with amorous look
Hee never meanes to see againe:
And so doth Fortune use to Smile
Upon the short-liv'd Favourites face,
Whose swelling hopes shee will beguile,
And allwayes casts him in her race:
And so doth the fantastick Boy,
The God of the Illmanag'd flames,
Who ne're kept word in promis'd Joy
To Lover, nor to loving dames.
Soe all alike will constant prove,
Both Fortune, running-streames, and Love.