love poems for her

Love is not love that cannot stand and say,
“What I have suffered I would bear again
And ten times more, if so the slightest pain
From finger-tip of thine to soothe away
I might be able, pleasure to convey
In tiniest crimson tingle of a vein:
Yea, sweetheart, stony-hearted would remain
Unloved, unkissed, for ever and a day,
If so the Beauty might be nearer brought
That I have seen between the palms of dreams.”
Till we are one with our ideal gleams,
And bear upon our brows the rainbow sought

Wilt thou my true Friend be?
Then love not mine, but me.

My wife and I lived all alone,
contention was our only bone.
I fought with her, she fought with me,
and things went on right merrily.

But now I live here by myself
with hardly a damn thing on the shelf,
and pass my days with little cheer
since I have parted from my dear.

Oh come home soon, I write to her.
Go screw yourself, is her answer.
Now what is that, for Christian word?
I hope she feeds on dried goose turd.

But still I love her, yes I do.
I love her and the children too.

Love's kisses spurned so long ago,
Dead as the years, that o'er them flow;—
And now, my gilded treasuries
Would I might give—for memories.

I dance to forget life,
For I have had enough of love and roses,
And I would feel the blood riot in my veins
Warm as a Summer wind!

Bring the music!
Let us dance till our dreams lie dead,
And the haggard dawn shivers
On the shining floor!

Let there be wild song
And false mirth to fill the heavy air;
As careless boys in carnival
Let us be glad!

Let me be full of rhythm
Until I am drunk unto forgetting!
Unfurl the pageant of color
That I may drown therein.

I dance to forget life,

Fair partner of my Nancy's heart,
Who feel'st, like me, love's poignant dart;
Who at a frown can'st pant for pain,
And at a smile revive again;
Who doat'st to that severe degree,
You're jealous, e'en of constancy;
Born hopes and fears and doubts to prove,
And each vicissitude of love!
To this my humble suit attend,
And be my advocate and friend.
So may just heav'n your goodness bless,
Successful ev'n in my success!
Oft at the silent hour of night,
When bold intrusion wings her flight,

Where heat of love doth once possess the heart,
There cares oppress the mind with wondrous ill:
Wit runs awry, not fearing future smart,
And fond desire doth overmaster will:
The belly neither cares for meat nor drink,
Nor over-watched eyes desire to wink.

Footsteps are false, and wavering to and fro;
The pleasing flower of beauty fades away;
Reason retires, and pleasure brings in woe,
And wisdom yieldeth place to black decay:
Counsel and fame, and friendship are contemned,
And bashful shame, and Gods themselves condemned.

Red, red roses glowing in the garden,
Rare, white lilies swaying on your stalks,
Did you hear me pray my sweet love for pardon,
Straying with him through your garden walks?

Ah, you glow and smile when the sun shines upon you—
You thrill with delight at the tears of the dew,
And the wind that caresses you boasts that he won you—
Do you think, fair flowers, to them all to be true?

Sun, dew, and wind, ah, they all are your lovers—
Sun, dew, and wind, and you love them back again—

Not only once, and long ago,
There on Golgotha's rugged side,
Has Christ, the Lord, been crucified
Because He loved a lost world so.
But hourly souls, sin-satisfied,
Mock His great love, flout His commands.
And I drive nails deep in His hands,
You thrust the spear within His side.

Not only once, and long ago,
There on Golgotha's rugged side,
Has Christ, the Lord, been crucified
Because He loved a lost world so.
But hourly souls, sin-satisfied,
Mock His great love, flout His commands.

If I live all my days by routine,
Keeping days ordered and ways clean,
Will there be room for Love in my life?
Love who is born in storm, and lives in strife.