love poems for her

M IRIAM , " Loved of God, " my little child,
I anguished so that thou mightst come to me,
And now my being bleeds as poignantly,
My mother's heart can scarce be reconciled
That God has called thee, pure and undefiled,
Back to His presence. It would seem that He,
Miriam, " Loved of God, " had need of thee.
Yet I can still rejoice that thou hast smiled
And lived to bless me for this fleeting hour,
For in my soul has grown the wondrous power
Of perfect motherhood, the one sublime
And stainless passion of the human heart,

If you should cease to love me, tell me so!
I could not bear to feel your ardent hand
That waked the chords of life to understand,
Hold mine less closely; no, Beloved, no;
If you should cease to love me, tell me so!

If you should cease to love me, do not dare
To meet me with a masque of tenderness;
I could not stoop to suffer one caress
That any other had a right to share, —
If you should cease to love me, do not dare!

If you should cease to love me, do not fear —
I would not have you think I made one claim.

The love that I would banish from my heart
Has nothing for me now but bitter pain,
And yet it holds me and will not depart
Nor leave my tortured soul to peace again —
And all my brooding spirit cries to God,
Just, for one single hour to turn Time's wheel,
Remit the sentence, stay the righteous rod,
And all the beauty of the past reveal.
Let me once more believe that Love was deep,
Impregnable, unbartered for desire,
And I, who sowed the wind, would gladly reap
The burning whirlwind of its flaming fire, —

Can it be true the triple years have passed
With dull and laggard steps above your head,
And yet, my Own, I cannot make you dead!
Light of my life, the glamour that you cast
Is with me still — I hold it close and fast,
And, if from Earth it has not wholly fled,
May not the sunshine which your presence shed
Break through this leaden loneliness at last?
Not that I would my bitter pain deny,
For Love is Pain and I would pay its price,
The poignant price of what was once so sweet!
The Cross that Christ Himself did sanctify

I care not what your age;
Turn but another page,
And you shall know
You have not known
The depth of Love's
Great undertone.
The song of life forever young.
Is in your heart as yet unsung.

No longer need his soul for beauty seek —
How wondrous fair her skin, her features' mold,
The lily hand which lay upon her cheek,
The bright hair backward rolled!

A spirit seemed she, flown within his ken,
And in his heart a mighty love upsprung;
He could have clasped her to his bosom then,
Aside all custom flung.

And she, who felt the fire of his long gaze
Fall on her soul like sunrise on the sea,
Turned her lit eyes, and met his own half-ways,
And knew that it was he.

DEAR E DITH , I am pondering now,
With the sweet south wind on my brow,
And thoughtful eyes, which only see
The past, in sky, and grass, and tree.

Into the past I go to seek
The lustre of thy maiden cheek,
And all thy graces debonair —
I go to seek, and find them there.

Canst thou revisit, as I do,
The time wherein I learned to woo?
The time when, young in thought and years,
We learned love's lore of smiles and tears?

Our early love founDearly cure,
But, cousin mine, of this be sure —

A SAILOR once wooed a farmer's daughter,
The fairest lass in all the country side.
She loved him well; but when he besought her
With beating, beating heart to be his bride,
“A sailor lad,” she said, “I'll never, never wed,
And live a wife and widow all in one;
O no, my charmer shall be a farmer,
Returning faithful with the set of sun.”

At danger's call, across the water
The sailor went, but left his heart behind;
Fresh lovers whispered the farmer's daughter;
Yet when they prayed her to confess her mind,

This is the hour when falls the fadeless light
And hearts turn homeward, weariness oppressed,
To healing springs of sacramental night,
To lofty sources of inspiring rest.

This is the hour when earth-lights disappear,
And starry openings through the night's dim walls
Let angel whispers steal upon the ear
While on the heart Love's perfect music falls.

This is the hour. Lo, all the space around
Is stilled to peace, and down the subtle air
No breezes stir, no step nor word nor sound,

ON his flute of gold the blackbird bold
Love's tale to his melting mate has told,
And now the thieves have started;
And o'er the ground, in fluttering round,
Enamoured fly, whilst you and I
In lonesome pain are parted.
But when hearts beat true through the night of sorrow,
They're blest the more when the magic morrow
Its rosy ray has darted.
Fortune may wave her wings and fly,
But she'll flutter back again by and by,
And crown the constant-hearted.

These birds that pair the April air