love poems for her

To C —
her lover,
sweeter than honey or honeycomb,

B —
sends her loving.
Uniquely special,
Why do you delay
so long,
so far?
Why do you want your only one to die,
me,
your soul and body lover,
me,
your little starveling bird,
Sighing for you
every hour,
every second?
Without your honied presence
I want
to hear no one,
to see no one.
Like the turtle on its shrivelled branch
Forever mourning for its mate
I
too
endless

In the glad spring when leaves were green,
O merrily the throstle sings!
I sought, amid the tangled sheen,
Love whom mine eyes had never seen,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

Between the blossoms red and white,
O merrily the throstle sings!
My love first came into my sight,
O perfect vision of delight,
O the glad dove has golden wings!

The yellow apples glowed like fire.
O merrily the throstle sings!
O Love too great for lip or lyre,
Blown rose of love and of desire,

'Tis said but a name is friendship,
Soulless, and shallow, and vain;
That the human heart ne'er beats in response,
Or echoes sweet sympathy's strain.

But to-day in " memory's mirror "
Came a dear and honored one,
Whom in days gone by had lived and had loved,
Ere her heavenly goal was won.

Her countenance beamed as of yore,
With radiant smiles of love,
And I felt that the friendship she lavished me here,
Had ripened in heaven above.

I felt that her voice so winsome,

He saw them tasked with heavy burthens all,
Bowed down and weary 'neath the heavy load;
With none their faltering footsteps home to call,
Or point them out the strait and narrow road;
His spirit bore their burthens, as his own,
He healed the sick, restored the sightless eyes;
He heard the mourner for a loved one moan,
And bade the dead from out the grave arise!
Truly on him the Spirit did descend,
For he, by works divine, its influence proved;
Of all our race Consoler, Guide, and Friend,

The tired heart sleeps well through the night
I sleep well
the owner of a lonely heart in flannel
what is it, there quietly moving in dream a suckling
freezing from cold a fly's whimper
bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm bumm.

I feel sorrow over the dust-white light of this room
I feel lonely about the powerless tremor of this life.

My love
you're sitting there, by the pillow on my bed
my love, you're sitting there.
Your slender neck
your hair you've grown long
listen, my gentle love

Three sang of love together: one with lips
Crimson, with cheeks and bosom in a glow,
Flushed to the yellow hair and finger-tips;
And one there sang who soft and smooth as snow
Bloomed like a tinted hyacinth at a show;
And one was blue with famine after love,
Who like a harpstring snapped rang harsh and low
The burden of what those were singing of.
One shamed herself in love; one temperately
Grew gross in soulless love, a sluggish wife;

One famished died for love. Thus two of three

'Tis now since I sat down before
That foolish fort, a heart,
( Time strangely spent) a year, and more,
And still I did my part:

Made my approaches, from her hand
Unto her lip did rise,
And did already understand
The language of her eyes;

Proceeded on with no less art,
My tongue was engineer:
I thought to undermine the heart
By whispering in the ear.

When this did nothing, I brought down
Great canon-oaths, and shot
A thousand thousand to the town,
And still it yielded not.

'Tis not my ladies face that makes me love her,
Though beauty there doth rest,
Enough t' inflame the breast
On one, that never did discover
The glories of a face before;
But I that have seen thousands more
See nought in hers, but what in others are,
Only because I think she's fair , she's fair .

'T IS not her birth, her friends, nor yet her treasure,
Nor do I covet her for sensual pleasure,
Nor for that old morality
Do I love her, 'cause she loves me.

Sure he that loves his lady 'cause she's fair,
Delights his eye, so loves himself, not her.
Something there is moves me to love, and I
Do know I love, but know not how, nor why.

I

Thy nights moan into my days,
Through my dreams courses the blood of thy feet.
O I will drink thy tears away,
I will bear thee up under the crown of my leaves.

The crown of my leaves is cool and full of peace,
Bathed high in waters deep.
Down upon us shall drip the depths of the sky,
From seas eternal through the holy crown of leaves.

Slumber deep in my arms!
My eyes are steel-hard angels watching
Over thy peace.

II

Thy eyes with gloom are gleaming,