love poems for her

O homely, puzzling, truthful words
We women sometimes say!
I love you just as much, dear heart,
But in a different way.

We cannot tell you what we mean,
However you may pray,
Nor make you feel the later love
Is quite so sweet a way.

Yet often truer than your oaths
Those foolish words we say:
" I love you just as much, dear heart,
But in a different way. "

I wish I might have borne the woe
Of hopeless love and unrequited,
And kept a noble all my life
The man my sovereign fancy knighted.

I thought that pain was hard to bear;
'T was light beside this later sorrow:
To bid farewell to him to-day,
Nor care to see him on the morrow!

Love is already on the wing:
How quick to fly, once he was freed!
We would not call him if we could, —
God-speed, dear Love, God-speed!

Love is already on the wing:
Both you and I are glad indeed.
Yet voices tremble as we cry,
" God-speed, dear Love, God-speed! "

Oh is it food for sighs at Fate,
Or is it food for laughter,
That men should love the best to-day,
And women the day after?

Men seize the hour to vow and kiss,
Forget, and onward wander;
But women on the morrow sigh,
" To-day I would be fonder! "

Women steal back, look through the pales
At finished yesterday.
" Why was it winter with me then,
When now my mood is May? "

How fair for women were the world,
How full of song and laughter,
If they could love to-day, or men

Strive not, dear Love, to hide from me thy pain;
I know thou lov'st, and art not loved again.
So I love thee, yea, just as much in vain;
Shrink not then, Love: we bear a common pain.

We two, alone and chilled, stand side by side,
By a grief severed, by a grief allied.
The earth a snow-clad moorland stretches wide,
And we are far apart, though side by side.

He hath not guessed Christ's agony,
He hath not dreamed his bitterest woe,
Who hath not worn the crown of love
And felt the crown of anguish so.

Ah, not the torments of the cross,
Or nails that pierced, or thirst that burned,
Heightened the kingly Victim's pain,
But grief of griefs, — His love was spurned!

Phillis , you ask me why I do persue,
And Court no other Nymph but you;
And why with eyes, sighes, I do betray,
A passion which I dare not say:
His cause I love, and if you ask me why,
With womens answers, I must reply.

You ask me what Arguments I have to prove
That my unrest proceeds from Love:
You'l not believe my passion till I show,
A better reason why tis so;
Then Phillis let this reason serve for one,

Set by Captain Pack.

I

How strongly does my Passion flow,
Divided equally 'twixt two?
Damon had ne'er subdu'd my Heart,
Had not Alexis took his part;
Nor cou'd Alexis pow'rful prove,
Without my Damons Aid, to gain my Love.

II

When my Alexis present is,
Then I for Damon sigh and mourn;
But when Alexis I do miss,
Damon gains nothing but my Scorn.
But if it chance they both are by,
For both alike I languish, sigh, and die.

III

Love in fantastic triumph sat,
Whilst bleeding hearts around him flowed,
For whom fresh pains he did create,
And strange tyrannic power he showed;
From thy bright eyes he took his fire,
Which round about, in sport he hurled;

But 'twas from mine, he took desire,
Enough to undo the amorous world.

From me he took his sighs and tears,
From thee his pride and cruelty;
From me his languishments and fears,
And every killing dart from thee;
Thus thou and I, the God have armed,
And set him up a deity;

The gloom that winter casts
How soon the heart forgets —
When summer brings at last —
The sun that never sets.
So love — when hope first gleams
Forgets its former pain —
Amidst those sunny beams
Which ne'er shall set again.