love poems for her

Let moderation on thy passions waite
Who loves too much, too much the lov'd will hate.

Did I love thee? I only did desire
To hold thy body unto mine,
And smite it with strange fire
Of kisses burning as wine,
And catch thy odorous hair, and twine
It through my fingers amorously.
Did I love thee?

Did I love thee? I only did desire
To drink the perfume of thy blood
In vision, and thy senses tire
Seeing them shift from ebb to flood
In constant sweet interlude,
And if love such a thing not be,
I loved not thee.

At brightest dawn I'll rise and take
Long, ruddy lances from the sun,
And search with them each shady brake
To see where Love hath gone.
Love, Love, where liest thou?
“Thou shalt not find me so.”

I'll filch the brightest star on high
And tie it to my pilgrim's staff;
And by its rays I'll onward hie
To see where Love doth laugh.
Love, Love, where dost thou lie?
“Oh, not in shadows by!”

I'll climb the rainbow's rosy bridge,
And peep the pearlèd clouds above;
I'll cling to Luna's diamond edge,

Ye loving wormes, come learne of me,
The plagues to leave that linked be;
The grudge, the grief, the gret anoy,
The fickle faith, the fading ioy,
In time take heed;
In fruitlesse soile sow not thy seed:
Buie not, with cost,
The thing that yeelds but labour lost.

If Cupids dart do chance to light,
So that affection dimmes thy sight;
Then raise up reason, by and by,
With skill thy heart to fortifie;
Where is a breach,
Oft times too late doth come the Leach:
Sparks are put out,

When Phillis sleeps beside her couch Love lies,
When Phillis wakes, Love follows where she roves,
Love's in her words, her silence, and her sighs,
And her whole life and all her power are Love's.
Gesture and song he taught her—and his doves
Instructed her to murmur. Even in ire
Love makes her lovelier—and with grief improves
Charms which he only, could with tears inspire.
If through the mazy dance all grace she moves,
Her fairy feet Love tunes to music's lyre,
And wings o'er flowers, like Zephyr through the groves:

God keep you safe, my little love,
—All through the night.
Rest close in His encircling arms
—Until the light.
My heart is with you as I kneel to pray,
“Good night! God keep you in His care alway.”

Thick shadows creep like silent ghosts
—About my bed.
I lose myself in tender dreams
—While overhead
The moon comes stealing through the window bars.
A silver sickle gleaming 'mid the stars.

For I, though I am far away,
—Feel safe and strong,
To trust you thus, dear love, and yet
—The night is long.

Love, thou art absolute sole lord
Of life and death. To prove the word
We'll now appeal to none of all
Those thy old soldiers, great and tall,
Ripe men of martyrdom, that could reach down
With strong arms their triumphant crown;
Such as could with lusty breath
Speak loud into the face of death
Their great Lord's glorious name, to none
Of those whose spacious bosoms spread a throne
For love at large to fill. Spare blood and sweat
And see him take a private seat,
Making his mansion in the mild
And milky soul of a soft child.

There 's nothing in this World can prove
So true and real Pleasure,
As perfect Sympathy in Love,
Which is a real Treasure.

The purest Strain of perfect Love
In Vertue's Dye and Season,
Is that whose Influence doth move,
And doth convince our Reason.

Designs attend, Desires give place,
Hopes had no more availeth;
The Cause remov'd the Effect doth cease,
Flames not maintain'd soon faileth.

The Conquest then of richest Hearts,
Well lodg'd and trim'd by Nature,
Is that which true Content imparts,

Would they were written, (and in heav'n they are,)
The patient deeds of men of low estate!
Esteem'd so little, but how truly great!
When will their modest beams be hail'd afar,
And peacefully smile down the pomps of war?
Oh, when will Labour's weary sons descry,
Illumining with love an equal sky,
The honour'd rays of Toil's eternal star?
I know that our Redeemer lives; I know
That well he marks our strife with want and fear;
Our long-assur'd inheritance of woe!
I know that his good angels love to write

I hunted her down the morning.
Sharp hoof and shoulders bare,
She fled me in swift scorning,
With her great golden mane of hair
Firing the hot and quivering air.
Down broad bleached plain, up sunburnt hill
She led me and I followed still.
She leapt the rock, I saw the gleam
Of glistening haunches in the stream;
Her little murdering hoof she drove
Through reed and flower, her hair alone
With long gold fingers urged me on
Till I was mad and blind with love,
With sun and sleep and sharp desire