love poems for her

How did it happen that we quarreled?
We two who loved each other so!
Only the moment before we were one,
Using the language that lovers know.
And then of a sudden, a word, a phrase
That struck at the heart like a poignard's blow.
And you went berserk, and I saw red,
And love lay between us, bleeding and dead!
Dead! When we'd loved each other so!

How could it happen that we quarreled!
Think of the things we used to say!
“What does it matter, dear, what you do?
Love such as ours has to last for aye!”

1. Holy Father, great creator, Source of mercy, love, and peace,
2. Holy Jesus, Lord of glory, Whom angelic hosts proclaim,
Look upon the Mediator, Clothe us with his righteousness;
While we hear thy wondrous story, Meet and worship in thy Name,
Heavenly Father, Heavenly Father, Through the Saviour hear and bless;
Dear Redeemer, dear Redeemer, In our hearts thy peace proclaim,
Heavenly Father, Heavenly Father, Through the Saviour hear and bless.
Dear Redeemer, dear Redeemer, In our hearts thy peace proclaim.

3. Holy Spirit, Sanctifier,

Hide not thy love and myne shal bee
Open and free;
No mask dooth well upon thy face.
Lett those that meane more hurt provide
Love of a guide,
Or of some close retyring place.
A harmles kisse would make us thinck
Love hath no Nectar else to drinck.

Our loves are not of age to will
Both good and ill,
For thine, alas, is but new borne,
And myne is yett to yonge to speake.
How can they breake
Or hold Loves civill Lawes in skorne?
Wee might go naked if some spie,
Apt to traduce us, stood not by.

He hears with gladdened heart the thunder
Peal, and loves the falling dew;
He knows the earth above and under —
Sits and is content to view.

He sits beside the dying ember,
God for hope and man for friend,
Content to see, glad to remember,
Expectant of the certain end.

Hear, O Self-Giver, infinite as good;
This faith, at least, my wavering heart should hold,
Nor find in dark regret its daily food,
But catch the gleam of glories yet untold.
Yea, even on earth, beloved, as love well knew,
Brief absence brought our fond returning kiss,
So let my soul to God's great world and you
Look onward with sweet pain of secret bliss; —
O sunset sky and lonely gleaming star,
Your beauty thrills me from the bound of space,
O Love, thy loveliness shows best afar,

Heare ye Virgins, and Ile teach,
What the times of old did preach.
Rosamond was in a Bower
Kept, as Danae in a Tower:
But yet Love (who subtile is)
Crept to that, and came to this.
Be ye lockt up like to these,
Or the rich Hesperides;
Or those Babies in your eyes,
In their Christall Nunneries;
Notwithstanding Love will win,
Or else force a passage in:
And as coy be, as you can,
Gifts will get ye, or the man.

He that will not love, must be
My Scholar, and learn this of me:
There be in Love as many feares,
As the Summers Corne has eares:
Sighs, and sobs, and sorrowes more
Then the sand, that makes the shore:
Freezing cold, and firie heats,
Fainting swoones, and deadly sweats;
Now an Ague, then a Fever,
Both tormenting Lovers ever.
Wod'st thou know, besides all these,
How hard a woman 'tis to please?
How crosse, how sullen, and how soone
She shifts and changes like the Moone.
How false, how hollow she's in heart;

Here shadow lie
Whil'st life is sadd,
Still hopes to die
To him she hadd

In bliss is hee,
Whom I lov'd best
Thrise happie shee
With him to rest.

So shall I be
With him I loved
And hee with mee
And both us blessed

Love made me Poet
And this I writt,
My harte did doe yt
And not my witt.

1. Here, Lord, retired, I bow in prayer. Refresh my
2. Without this grace, I strive in vain, O God, re-
soul my heart prepare To preach thy word with
vive thy saints again; Convince poor sinners
power divine; If I succeed, the praise be thine.
of their case, Cause them to seek thy pardoning grace.

3. Draw thousands to thy mercy seat;
Their hearts renew their sins remit;
Fill them with joy of faith and love
To serve on earth, to praise above.

4. In tears I sow the precious seed;
Cause it to spring my work succeed.

Here lie I, once a witty fair,
Ill-loving and ill-loved;
Whose heedless beauty was my snare,
Whose wit my folly proved.

Reader, should any curious stay
To ask my luckless name,
Tell them the grave that hides my clay
Conceals me from my shame.

Tell them I mourned for guilt of sin
More than for pleasure spent:
Tell them, whate'er my morn had been,
My noon was penitent.