love poems for her

A gap is in our fireside-ring
The wideness of a tiny tomb;
A prattle sweet as birds can sing
Has left its hush in every room.

Our hearts long for the pretty charms
Of babish questions manifold,
And for the little hugging arms
Now locked across a bosom cold.

The bright hair and the eyes that beamed
So wondrously, O, how we miss!
And, O, the loving lips! that seemed
Fashioned so purposely to kiss.

As they who, yearning over sea,
Grow homesick for their land and kin,

Had I but clung in love to Rama's feet,
Then of the triple agony by night and day alone I had not had to bear the pain.
Who once finds contentment's sweet immortal wine, even in his dreams:
Why should his mind, beholding vain desires, run like a deer after the phantom lake?
Who sings the greatness of the Lord with understanding heart, with ever growing love.

Why should he roam from door to door like a dog with ever empty belly?
The covetous, who are themselves the bond-slaves of desires, are ministers to all men's whims.

Yon meddler, at me who for love And toping outcry maketh,
The mysteries of the Unseen E'en bold to deny maketh.

Regard thou the myst'ries of Love's Perfection and not sin's blemish:
The meritless man his sole aim Defects to descry maketh.

The cupbearer's glances the path Of Islam waylay on such fashion
That none, save he be a Suhéib, O' the grape-juice red fie maketh.

There breatheth abroad in the land The scent of the Houris of Heaven,
When she of our winehouse's dust The scent of her ply maketh.

When those red berries come in springtime,
Flushing on your southland branches,
Take home an armful, for my sake,
As a symbol of our love.

Lakka-trees ripen two by two
And mandarin-ducks die side by side.
If a true-hearted girl will love only her husband,
In a life as faithfully lived as theirs,
What troubling wave can arrive to vex
A spirit like water in a timeless well?

His heart, a hidden fountain, whence there ran
Through the hushed tenor of reclusive days,
Deep love of Nature, and the Soul of man,
In stately song and in melodious lays.

Come, close your eyes and let us dream together
That June-time's glow is here;
See not the coming of the snow's first feather,
Hear not the wind's voice drear.

Oh, let's float back to where the roses tremble,
And breezes lift your hair;
And these pink asters,—do they not resemble
The climbing roses there?

You will not dream? How, then, can you remember
The month that bore our love,
Or taste its sweetness in this dark December,
All gloom the mistress of?

The asters faint are but the ghosts of roses

‘Have other lovers,—say, my love,—
Loved thus before to-day?’—
‘They may have, yes! they may, my love;
Not long ago they may.’

But though they worshipped thee, my love,
Thy maiden heart was free?’—
‘Don't ask too much of me!’

‘Yet now 'tis you and I, my love,
Love's wings no more will fly?’—
‘If Love could never die, my love,
Our love should never die.’

‘For shame! and is this so, my love,
And Love and I must go?’—
‘Indeed I do not know, my love;
My life, I do not know.’

Encroaching on the emptiness, riot of color,
I love this uniquely, my own middle peak.
No cares at all, I lean on light staff,
I walk on calmly, following hidden tracks
On all the mountains falling of leaves is over.
And cold, azure mists form, layer upon layer.

If Life be the street
Where dreams are sold,
Faith is the purse
Of exhaustless gold.

Dreams are a-many,
Both false and true,
But Love's is the home
You fetch them to;

And there, all alone
With Love, you pour
The dreams you bought
On your chamber floor.

And when Love looks
Each packet through,
His smile turns all
The false ones true!