love poems for her

Blue is the sky, blue is thine eye,—
Which shall I call heaven?
Star is there, and soul is here,—
Tell me which is heaven.
I cannot know unless thou say,
So kin are both in orb and ray,
So full of heavenly feature;
The fall of dews, the flush of hues,
The tenderness of soften'd views,
Lovely alike by night and day,
And both of heavenly nature.

Blue is the sky, blue is thine eye,—
Both would image heaven;
Light is there, and love is here,—
Each the child of heaven.
Oh, might it be, and may it be,

Spokes when he sees a rosted Pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks; and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.

That woman's heart is a priceless pearl,
We all of us know very well;
But every pearl in an oyster grows,
While the oyster is cased in a shell.

And many a man, with a cunning plan
To force it its treasure to yield,
Has won him a girl, while he lost the pearl
That lay in her bosom concealed.

Some with their fingers would open the shell,
As if that were the natural way;
Some with the harsh and brutal steel
Would torture their delicate prey;

Others are told that a wedge of gold

I dreamt (would God it were true!) that thou and I were friends together;
Let us tell then one another the sweet secrets of our hearts.
See, I have a book; it is filled with loving verses:
Of thee I seek but love, let us wander through the gardens.
Hand in hand together, we will walk, and sit, and rise;
Let us be happy together, let us join in merry converse.
Offer me the well filled goblet, from thy hands alone I take it;
Give me yet again thy lip's kiss, and again I press thee for it.
The Minstrel at a distance draws his bow across the strings;

Here she lies, whom Fortune dowered
With the virgin wealth of Youth,
Beauty, and the love of Truth,
Golden Honour, spotless Fame,
Twenty-times transmitted name!
Here she lies, deserted, dead!
Dead, alas, and on her head
The cold and crumbling earth is showered!
Not a stone is at her feet;
Not a bud, with Summer sweet,
Sleepeth on her winding-sheet.
Yet what do such poor wants avail?
The sad-eyed widow, Pity pale,
Weepeth when her story's told;
How her love was left for gold;
How, desert' and doomed to fade,

Only a blush! O'er the cheek it swept,
In a tint, but a shade more bright,
While over the forehead the soft glow crept,
Like Aurora's roseate light.

Only a blush! 'Twas a single word
That the heart's deep fountain woke,
And in turbulent gushes, its depths were stirred,
For the lips were loved that spoke.

Only a blush! Yet the glow revealed
That she loved him, and with pride
In the armor of many a conquest steel'd,
He lingered near her side,

And breathed into her credulous ear,

I own three golden nuggets.
Two boys and a girl;
Who fondly call me mother;
I'm the happiest woman in the world.

I loved them ere they knew me,
I prayed that they might live;
As their little brown arms entwined me,
I gave all that I could give.

A mother's love and sympathy;
A mother's joy and tears;
A mother's heart—felt interest,
And above all, a mother's prayers.

I heard their childish laughter,
I joined them in their play;
I kissed their cuts and bruises;
I wiped their tears away.

Pause, pause, thou libertine, and lay
Thy hand upon thy bounding heart,
And ask thy soul, if to betray
The virgin is a manly part?

Alas! 'tis here the error lies—
'Tis gallantry to rob the maid
Of her fair fame, and tyrannize
O'er the fond heart by love betray'd.

Mistaken Man! the honor prize
Of Woman, nor her peace destroy;
'Tis her meek smile that best supplies
The sweetest zest of social joy.

Reject th' enticements of Desire,
Ye lovely maids, with cautious mind;

Oh, greater than God!
Oh, deeper than all wisdom!
Oh, sharper than the sting of death!
Oh, more boundless than earth
Or the many stars,
This love that fills my heart.

Oh miracle of the divine!
Oh, mystery of all mysteries!
Oh, strange flight of the spirit!
Oh, beauty illimitable
As the wide sky—
This love that fills my heart.

(Earth is a rainbow,
And my heart is young with wonder,
Since Love has come.)

Yes, here, my pretty swallow, twittering guest,
You every summer build your little nest,
And wing your flight ere comes the snow
To Memphis, or you seek the shores of Nile.
But Eros in my heart with many a wile
His nest weaves and he will not go.
One love is fully fledged and one is still
Within the shell; another half-fledged will
Become a grown love shortly; so
Great is the noise they make no peace at all
I have; the larger ones support the small.
In turn the younger nurslings too
Produce an infant brood. I cannot free