love poems for her

A face devoid of love or grace,
A hateful, hard, successful face,
A face with which a stone
Would feel as thoroughly at ease
As were they old acquaintances,—
First time together thrown.

Sing, oh my soul, to the Lord, thy Redeemer,
Sing of the love that he beareth for thee;
Tell to the world how he scattered the darkness,
Tell how he suffered and died on the tree.
Tell to the world of his blessed salvation,
Tell of the fountain that cleanseth from sin;
Tell of the joy like a deep flowing river,
Filling the heart that has Jesus within.
Sing, oh my soul, of this wonderful Saviour,
Mighty and willing to cleanse and to save;
Tell of his power thy soul to deliver,
Tell how in triumph he conquered the grave.

Well dost thou, Love, thy solemn Feast to hold
In vestal February;
Not rather choosing out some rosy day
From the rich coronet of the coming May,
When all things meet to marry!
O, quick, praevernal Power
That signall'st punctual through the sleepy mould
The Snowdrop's time to flower,
Fair as the rash oath of virginity
Which is first-love's first cry;
O, Baby Spring,
That flutter'st sudden 'neath the breast of Earth
A month before the birth;
Whence is the peaceful poignancy,
The joy contrite,

My love, my wife, three months ago
I joined the fight in London town.
I haven't conquered yet, you know,
And friends are few, and hope is low;
Far off I see the shining crown.

I'm daunted, dear; but blow on blow
With ebbing force I strike, and so
I am not felled and trodden down,
My love, my wife!

I wonder when the tide will flow,
Sir Oracle cease saying “No,”
And Fortune smile away her frown.
Well, while I swim I cannot drown;
And while we sleep the harvests grow,
My love, my wife.

A placid lake dreamed the dull days away
In Scotland's leafy heart, the wild deer's home,
Yet never knew the ecstasy of foam,
The curl of waves, or the grim tempest's sway.

But storms encompassed it one fatal day,
The snaky lightnings o'er its bank did roam,
And to its sheltering snow-girt cedars clomb,
Stirring the blue depths in wild disarray.

Like that calm lake, my heart serenely dreamed,
Unconscious of alarm, until you came,
Leading Love with you, vigorous and free;

L OVE'S torments sought a place of rest,
Where all might drear and lonely be;
They found ere long my desert breast,
And nestled in its vacancy.

When chinks in April's windy dome
Let through a day of June,
And foot and thought incline to roam,
And every sound 's a tune;
When Nature fills a fuller cup,
And hides with green the gray,—
Then, lover, pluck your courage up
To try your fate in May.

Though proud she was as sunset clad
In Autumn's fruity shades,
Love too is proud, and brings (gay lad!)
Humility to maids.
Scorn not from nature's mood to learn,
Take counsel of the day:
Since haughty skies to tender turn,
Go try your fate in May.

Life is not dear or gay
—Till lovers kiss it,
Love stole my life away
—Ere I might miss it.
In sober March I vowed
—I'd have no lover,
Love laid me in my shroud
—Ere June was over.

I felt his body take
—My body to it,
And knew my heart would break
—Ere I should rue it;
June roses are not sad
—When dew-drops steep them,
My moments were so glad
—I could not keep them.

Proud was I love had made
—Desire to fill me,
I shut my eyes and prayed
—That he might kill me.

This dainty shawl an Eastern shuttle wove,
Where Ravee stream winds sunward from Cashmere;
By nimble gold 'twas borne around the sphere
For one who gave it me in friendly love.
To rival nature's hues the weaver strove,
For beauty's sake and not barbaric show;
Behold, commingled here, elusive glow
The brilliant, innocent dyes of field and grove.
This silk-soft web was never merchandise;
A charm of peerless art proclaims it rare,—
A sumptuous robe that Majesty would prize,
And India's British Empress well might wear;

When on the altar of my hand,
Bedew'd with many a kiss and tear,
Thy now revolted heart did stand
An humble martyr, thou didst swear
Thus (and the god of love did hear):
“By those bright glances of thine eye,
Unless thou pity me, I die.”

When first those perjured lips of thine,
Be-paled with blasting sighs, did seal
Their violated faith on mine,
From the soft bosom that did heal
Thee, thou my melting heart didst steal:
My soul, inflamed with thy false breath,
Poison'd with kisses, suck'd in death.