love poems for her

Leaving the bower of love, I seek the scene
Where thought's mailed servants in their stout array
Drive with straight swords the opposing clouds between:
Oh, at the dawning of a stormy day
That breaks tempestuous over wastes of grey
We are living—yet within high thought's domain
Are there not many gracious words to say?
What if the singer's robe with sanguine stain
Be wet, voice hoarsened from the battle-rain,
Shall he not find more rest and sweeter after
When to his heart thy white form he doth strain,

When youth is gone, and love is gone,
What lights the woodland way?
October's sunset, chill and wan;
The light of Autumn grey.
When youth is gone, and love is fled,
For us the world might well be dead!

When youth is gone,—as dead leaves go
Along the autumnal blast,—
Then first ourselves we seem to know
What all shall know at last;
The autumn weariness of life,
Past love and labour, zeal and strife.

When love is gone,—as blossoms fade,
Fade swiftly one by one,—
Our tired hearts tremble, as cold shade

Love is worth having: this we know and preach.
Though heartless, mindless, soulless, Nature be,
And all the voices of her wild white sea
Have nought of loving helpful God to teach;
Though, piercing far beyond the stars, we reach
More stars,—but no high heaven of sacred glee;
Though summer laughing in the dense green tree
Hath but a mocking restless helpless speech;
Though this be so, yet love is passing fair
And more than ever do we seek her face,
And seek her breast, and nestle in her hair,

Sweet bird! whose fate and mine agree,
As far as proud humanity,
The parellel will own;
O let our voice and hearts combine,
O let us, fellow-warblers join,
Our patroness to crown.

When heavy hung thy flagging wing,
When thou could'st neither move nor sing,
Of spirits void and rest;
A lovely nymph her aid apply'd,
She gave the bliss to heav'n allied,
And cur'd thee on her breast.

Me too the kind indulgent maid,
With gen'rous care and timely aid,
Restor'd to mirth and health;

Two mothers met one day at the door of a church.
One entered, full of radiant joy,
Proud and triumphant, carrying in her arms
Her little child for baptism.

The other, the unhappy one, leaving the threshold,
Also carried a child, but this poor mother
Brought it, dead, for burial.

A few more steps and the two met
She who bore in her happy arms
The child of her love;
The other, bathed in tears,
Who followed her dead baby.

Their eyes met. And at that moment
It was the happy mother from whose eyes

He who satire loves to sing,
On himself will satire bring.

The twilight fleeted away in pearl on the stream,
And night, like a diamond dome, stood still in our dream.
Your eyes like burnished stones or as stars were bright
With the sudden vision that made us one with the night.

We loved in infinite spaces, forgetting here
The breasts that were lit with life and the lips so near;
Till the wizard willows waved in the wind and drew
Me away from the fulness of love and down to you.

Our love was so vast that it filled the heavens up:
But the soft white form I held was an empty cup,

I will sing of dainty Eros
Decked with many-coloured garlands:
He is master of the Immortals,
He is victor over men!

The stars around the lovely moon
Their radiant visage hide as soon
As she, full-orbed, appears to sight,
Flooding the earth with her silvery light.

Lady, pray pardon mine excess,
But when your simple suppliant woos,
Despite his Yankee scarletness,
He has Those Sentimental Blues.
Yet, though the yappiest of hicks,
Unsentimental as a derrick,
He learned a lot of mushy tricks
From Robert Herrick.

“Love in my bosom like a bee”
(From Lodge I lift that lovely line)
“Love still hath something of the sea”
(Sedley) “And I'll not ask for wine”
(Jonson). From Byron's Athens Maid,
From girls in Wither, Cowley, Fletcher,
Tennyson, Waller, Dobson, Praed