love poems for her

Shee that holdes me under the lawes of love
on whome my mornefull vearse so ofte complaines
For those straunge griefs that I through[h]e wronge do prove
she is the courte wherin my lyfe remaynes
Shee is my prince off whom I woulde desarve
and shee alone to me can favor lende
Shee hath for courtiers thowsands that doo serve
and onely on her eyes for lookes attende
Unto her love wee woulde as fayne aspire
as others wolde in Courte to honors ryse
And as disgrace makes courtiers to retyre

Give me the boon of love!
I ask no more for fame;
Far better one unpurchased heart
Than glory's proudest name.
Why wake a fever in the blood,
Or damp the spirit now,
To gain a wreath whose leaves shall wave
Above a withered brow?

Give me the boon of love!
Ambition's meed is vain;
Dearer affection's earnest smile
Than honor's richest train.
I'd rather lean upon a breast
Responsive to my own,
Than sit pavilioned gorgeously
Upon a kingly throne.

Like the Chaldean sage,

Two birds within one nest;
Two hearts within one breast;
Two spirits in one fair,
Firm league of love and prayer,
Together bound for aye, together blest.

An ear that waits to catch
A hand upon the latch;
A step that hastens its sweet rest to win;
A world of care without,
A world of strife shut out,
A world of love shut in.

C HLORIS , whilst thou and I were free,
Wedded to nought but Liberty,
How sweetly happy did we live,
How free to promise, free to give?

Then, Monarchs of our selves, we might
Love here, or there, to change delight,
And ty'd to none, with all dispence,
Paying each Love its recompence.

But in that happy freedom, we
Were so improvidently free,
To give away our liberties;

And now in fruitless sorrow pine
At what we are, what might have bin,
Had thou, or I, or both been wise.

There is a state that all may know,
No fear, no shame we feel;
For God doth all his mercy show,
And all his love reveal.

His goodness manifested is,
And all his ways are clear;
The Spirit seals our souls as his,
For we to him are dear.

A Father's love, in our past years,
By us is clearly known;
For he has wiped away our tears,
And as his sons doth own.

And he has called us by his Son
To know a higher life,
With them forever to be one,
No more with sin at strife.

Who love would seek,
Let him love evermore
And seldom speak;
For in love's domain
Silence must reign;
Or it brings the heart
Smart

They put their finger on their lip,—
The Powers above;
The seas their islands clip,
The moons in Ocean dip,—
They love but name not love.

Under dusky laurel leaf,
—Scarlet leaf of rose,
I lie prone, who have known
—All a woman knows.

Love and grief and motherhood,
—Fame and mirth and scorn—
These are all shall befall
—Any woman born.

Jewel-laden are my hands,
—Tall my stone above—
Do not weep that I sleep,
—Who was wise in love.

Where I walk, a shadow gray
—Through gray asphodel,
I am glad, who have had
—All that Life could tell.

'Twas granted:—but the bitter god of Love,
As in revenge for some disparagement,
Left us to strive, inextricably blent,
Before we knew in truth for what we strove,
Or why we went, unwillingly, who went,
Or whether driven, or who he was that drove.
The countless haps that draw vague heart to heart,
The countless hands that push true hearts apart—
Of these we nothing recked, and nothing knew.
The wonder of the world, the faint surmise,
The clouded looks of hate, the harrowing eyes,
But pierced and pinned together: 'twas one to us.

A poet's moonshine! Yes, for love must lend
Answer to reason, though 'tis bitter breath.
Better wild roses died their natural death
Than evilly or idly them to rend.
The girl was fair as flower the moon beneath,
Gentle and good, and constant to her friend,
Yet out of her own place, not so complete:
Was wedded to her kind—had leave to lack,
But old associations rarely slip.
Tight as a stem of grass within its sheath,
You yet may draw and nibble, touch the sweet
With the tip tongue and browse the tender end