love poems for her

O the birds of bonnie Scotland,
I love them one and all—
The eagle soaring high in pride,
The wren so blithe and small.
I love the cushat in the wood,
The heron by the stream,
The lark that sings the stars asleep,
The merle that wakes their beam.

O the birds of dear old Scotland,
I love them every one—
The owl that leaves the tower by night,
The swallow in the sun.
I love the raven on the rock,
The sea-bird on the shore,
The merry chaffinch in the wood,
And the curlew on the moor.

I love thee, I love thee, and life will depart
Ere thy mother forgets thee, sweet child of her heart;
Yea, death's shadows only my memory can dim,
For thou'rt dearer than life to me—Mary Achin.

I love thee, I love thee, and six years hath now fled
Since first on my bosom I pillow'd thy head;
Since I first did behold thee in sorrow and sin,
Thou sweet offspring of false love—my Mary Achin.

I love thee, I love thee, and twelve months hath now past,
My sweet child, since I gazed on thy fairy form last;

Lord, 'tis a heav'n of joy and love
To feel thy gracious presence here!
And 'twill be heav'n complete above,
When we thy perfect likeness bear,
And see thy truth all glorious shine,
Replete with rays of love divine.

All honour to thy name alone,
And thanks, eternal thanks be giv'n,
For thou hast brought sweet mercy down,
And rais'd our hearts and hopes to heaven
And thou alone can'st keep our feet,
Till safe around thy throne we meet.

Still let thy grace sufficient prove,
To guide us on in wisdom's ways;

The fragrant pines are green, love,
The pines are fair and tall;
Dear is the Alpine scene, love,
Peak, flower, and waterfall;
But my heart's tendrils lean, love,
To humbler pines at home,
For there the feet have been, love,
That never learned to roam.
One day about the wood, dear,
Thy steps began to go,
And all my stony mood, dear,
Was moved to happy flow;
But when they ceased from pleasure
Upon the woodland floor,
Silence in deeper measure
Than e'er was known before
Returned for evermore, dear,

The star of love now shines above,
Cool zephyrs crisp the sea;
Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves
Its serenade for thee.
The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees,
Their minstrelsy unite,
But all are drear till thou appear
To decorate the night.

The light of noon streams from the moon,
Though with a milder ray;
O'er hill and grove, like woman's love,
It cheers us on our way.
Thus all that's bright—the moon, the night,
The heavens, the earth, the sea,
Exert their powers to bless the hours

The very atoms of the air
Seem warmed and stirring everywhere;
The sky with golden light suffused:
The earth grown bright with dawn unused;
I hear in waves of carolings
The sound of kisses, sweep of wings;
I close mine eyes,—what happens there?—
—The passing-by of Love the fair!—

I KNOW not, wherefore, dearest love,
Thou often art so strange and coy!
When 'mongst man's busy haunts we move,
Thy coldness puts to flight my joy.
But soon as night and silence round us reign,
I know thee by thy kisses sweet again!

How can one e'er be sure
If true love will endure?
My thoughts this morning are
As tangled as my hair.

Fie, fie on blind fancy,
It hinders youth's joy:
Fair virgins, learn by me,
To count love a toy.
When Love learned first the A B C of delight,
And knew no figures, nor conceited phrase,
He simply gave to due desert her right,
He led not lovers in dark winding ways,
He plainly willed to love, or flatly answered no;
But now who lists to prove, shall find it nothing so.
Fie, fie then on fancy,
It hinders youth's joy:
Fair virgins, learn by me,
To count love a toy.
For since he learned to use the poet's pen,

Homer, best of bards we're told,
Says that Love is all of gold;
So if we can pay Love's fee
Doors will open easily,
Porters hurry at your call,
Watch-dogs trouble not at all;
But if you've no gold to pay
Cerberus will bar your way;
Greed is money's rule, my boy,
To rob a poor man of his joy.