love poems for her

A HEAVEN-BORN goddess is sweet love:
Will she descend to common cares,
And breathe our dusty, earthly airs
In narrow paths, nor pine to rove?

She'll want soft carpets for her feet;
She'll want rich jewels in her hair,
From out her windows landscapes rare,
And in must float all perfumes sweet.

She'd weary of a petty round
Of household tasks that every day
Fritter and fret the life away,—
Though husband worshipped, children crowned.

Yes, heart that thought the heavens to scale,

The wind sings ‘Alleluia,’ and the sea
Shines in the moonlight like a silver sword;
The waves shout ‘Alleluia,’ full and free
With joyous sounds—‘We hail thy Mother, Lord.’

O night in May: thy air is full of love—
Of love and triumph for our Lady fair;
Behold, her crescent hangs the world above,
And all her stars adorn her mantle rare.

A bridal veil of moonbeams touches earth—
The bridal veil of her, the Spouse of God ;
The sparkling river sings a song of mirth,
And flower-faces smile upon the sod.

How was it I—I that unmoved
—Stood tearless in the funeral train,
When it was you, you that I loved,
—Whose earth was given to earth again?

The highest heavens are holy ground,
—The song of birds—the dawn—the gloom.
In every perfect sight and sound
—I bow, fair love, before thy tomb.

Annie, my first-born, gentle child,
My tender, fragile flower;
Why twines thy image round my heart,
With such mysterious power?

Is it because thy infant wail
The icy barrier moved,
That bound my soul's affections fast?
I knew 'twas mine I loved.

A mother's love no tongue can tell—
How boundless is that sea!
'Twas never mine; her spirit fled,
As she gave birth to me.

Annie, I gave to thee, my child,
The love my heart could yield;
God grant its influence o'er thee cast

As I lay asleep at midnight,
A thought came stealing over me:
A shadow of a great disaster,
The passing of my Love at sea.

I heard the chimes of Angelus,
It sounded sad but ringing clear;
I had a glimpse of dear heaven,
For my Love was a-going there.

The ship was lost in the ocean,
As the storm had raged and past;
Every soul was clothed in sadness,
But my Love was firm to the last.

I stretched my arms out to rescue,
But my Love was already gone:
A burning light stopped my vision,

O hush, sweet birds, that linger in lonely song!
Hold in your evening fragrance, wet May-bloom!
But drooping branches and leaves that greenly throng,
Darken and cover me over in tenderer gloom.
As a water-lily unclosing on some shy pool,
Filled with rain, upon tremulous water lying,
With joy afraid to speak, yet fain to be sighing
Its riches out, my heart is full, too full.

Votaries that have veiled their secret shrine
In veils of incense falteringly that rise,
And stealing in milky clouds of wavering line

With laughter swimming in thine eye,
That told youth's heartfelt revelry;
And motion changeful as the wing
Of swallow waken'd by the spring;
With accents blythe as voice of May
Chaunting glad Nature's roundelay;
Circled by joy like planet bright
That smiles 'mid wreathes of dewy light,—
Thy image such, in former time,
When thou, just entering on thy prime,
And woman's sense in thee combined
Gently with childhood's simplest mind,
First taught'st my sighing soul to move
With hope towards the heaven of love!

Love was true to me,
True and tender;
I who ought to be
Love's defender
Let the cold winds blow
Till they chilled him;
Let the winds and snow
Shroud him—and I know
That I killed him.

Years he cried to me
To be kinder;
I was blind to see
And grew blinder.
Years with soft hands raised
Fondly reaching,
Wept and prayed and praised,
Still beseeching.

When he died I woke,
God! how lonely,
When the grey dawn broke
On one only.
Now beside Love's grave
I am kneeling;

Before the grass grew over me,
I knew one good man through and through
And knew a soul and body joined
Are stronger than the heavens are blue.

A wisdom worthy of thy joy,
O great heart, read I as I ran;
Now, though men smite me on the face,
I cannot curse the face of man.

I loved the man I saw yestreen
Hanged with his babe's blood on his palms.
I loved the man I saw to-day
Who knocked not when he came with alms.

Hush!—for thy sake I even faced
The knowledge that is worse than hell;

I hear that the peonies are magnificent
in the famous gardens now
and that rich families will be enjoying them
until spring is almost gone.
What a shame! I too am a man who loves to look at flowers
but I am much too busy, watering my vegetable patch!