love poems for her

I love the mountain torrent dashing,
Downward, in thunder loud, and hoarse,
With snow-white foam, in fury, lashing
The rugged rocks that break its course —
I love the thunder, rumbling, crashing,
Peal after peal along the skies,
While from the clouds, the lightning flashing
In death-ful splendour, strikes — destroys —

I love the soul no danger fearing,
Still onward rushing to its goal,
All that impedes its course down-bearing,
Proud, fiery, broking no control
I love the conqu'ror's name declaring

Still my loved Minstrel I admire
The strains of thy enchanted lyre
Still thy sad lays so wildly sweet
I read—and while I read I weep
Nor do I check the burning tear
For 'tis a silent tribute dear
To Souls like thine which would inspire
Each breast with sympathetic fire
Byron thy noble lofty mind
Has been the sport of passions blind
Phrenzy has havocked in thy brain
With all her desolating train
But that is past—and now you roam
Far from your wife—your child your home
Joys which might still have been your own

Wide asunder in the azure All,
Mayst thou see two Starlets moving
That from far, so gladly, yet so sadly,
For a thousand years, were looking, loving;
Till a brief ambrosial kiss,
One, but one, as fast they rush together,
Brings them love's ethereal bliss,
And again, thro' pathless Space they sever:
Yet will Love, god-consecrate,
Flame for ever thro' the Night of Fate

Late it was the time had come
When those Starlets two united,
And, amid the dancing and the glancing
Of remotest Suns, did kiss delighted;

The Spanish Ladies Loue to an English Gentleman.

Will you heare a Spanish Lady
 how she wooed an Englishman:
Garments gay as rich as may be,
 deckt with Iewels had she on,
Of a comely countenance,
 and grace was she:
And by birth and parentage
 of high degree.

As his prisoner there he kept her,
 in his hands her life did lye:
Cupids bands did tie her faster,
 by the liking of her eye.
In his courteous company,
 was all her ioy;
To fauour him in any thing,
 she was not coy.

A loving cup! Ah, could I fill
The slender measure of my line
With that delicious, witching wine
Your autumn-tinted eyes distil,
Then while my muse should gayly trip,
My door I'd dup
To radiant memories, and sip
A loving cup!

Go, take your glass, and looking there,
Confess your face is wondrous fair!
Then wonder when I tell you true
'Tis fairer far to me than you.
For now it fills my heart with joy,
Now drinks it up!
Why should you treat it like a toy —
A loving cup?

There are only four letters in " Love, "
Yet how fully it speaks for the heart!
How liquid it drops from the tongue
As it lets the lips kiss once and part!

For love is a lore of itself;
The sages, unschooled in its ways,
Though they know all the books on the shelf,
Are but simpletons still all their days.

Breath of flower, gleam of gem, song of bird,
Blush of blossom of Dawn or of cheek —
Still it's love that's the one magic word
That they all wait to hear or to speak.

O love, is this thy own dear land,
And thine the silvery hours?
Then knight me with thy own fair hand —
An accolade of flowers!

Now lucent eyes and happy face —
The stars are in thy train;
The lilies blush in their disgrace,
The rose resigns her reign!

When on that temple's domes and walls
The tints of morning shine,
It needs not Love's muezzin calls
To bid me seek their shrine.

From heart to heart, an eager tide,
Pulses the mystic wine,
In such fair channel to abide

Pure as the air that blows across
Thy many mountains old;
Warm as the fire that drives the dross
Off from the shining gold;

Bright as the stars that watch above
Thy prairies broad unrolled;
True as the truest tale of love
That e'er was sung or told;
Is the love we bear to thee,
O Queen of the Land and Sea!
Columbia! Columbia!
Thou Home of Liberty!

Long as we love the sacred ties
That love has given birth;
Long as we love the memories
That twine around each hearth;

Go up, go up, my heart,
Dwell with thy God above;
For here thou canst not rest,
Nor here give out thy love.

Go up, go up, my heart,
Be not a trifler here;
Ascend above these clouds,
Dwell in a higher sphere.

Let not thy love flow out
To things so soiled and dim
Go up to heaven and God,
Take up thy love to him.

Waste not thy precious stores
On creature-love below;
To God that wealth belongs,
On him that wealth bestow.

Go up, reluctant heart,

The months may come, the months may go,
The frosty winds come leaping,
And silent 'neath the driven snow
The hearts of flowers be sleeping.
There lives yet in each soothed vein
The dauntless will to blossom
When pink arbutus crowns again
The hills of earth's fair bosom.

So in my true love's gentle heart,
Though forces dire be waging
To draw me from that breast apart,
Her constant watch engaging,
I know that where Love plants his seed
'Twill grow to sweet fruition,