love poems for her

I want to see him
but even in dreams I don't dare—
morning after morning
I'm more ashamed to see
how love has changed my looks

A Rhyme of good Death's inn!
My love came to that door;
And she had need of many things,
The way had been so sore.

My love she lifted up her head,
“And is there room?” said she;
“There was no room in Bethlehem's inn
For Christ who died for me.”

But said the keeper of the inn,
“His name is on the door.”
My love then straightway entered there:
She hath come back no more.

I LOVE thee—I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say;—
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee—I love thee!
Is all that I can say.

I love thee—I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee—I love thee!
A thousand maids among.

I love thee—I love thee!
Thy bright and hazel glance,

Love unreturn'd, how ere the flame
Seeme great and pure, may still admitt
degrees of more, and a new name
and strength acceptance gives to itt.

Till then, by honor ther's noe tie
layd on itt, that it ne're decay,
the minds last act by constancy
ought to be seald, and not the way.

Did ought but loves perfection bind
who should assigne at what degree
of love, fayth ought to fix the mynd
and in what limitts wee are free.
Soe hardly in A single harte
is any love conceived
that fancye still supplyes one part

The forest flutters with a breath of May;
The sun slants softly thro' a mist of greens:
Upon my arm a gentle beauty leans;
Through labyrinths of swaying leaves we stray;

Like the sweet Spring, we, too, are fresh and gay,
And envy not the lot of kings and queens:
To veil our love no pale care intervenes.
There is no night to our love's perfect day.

We walk and dream and dream again, and see
The brown birds watching as in mute surprise.
Languid, we feel blue scraps of mellow skies

1. Sweet rivers of redeeming love Lie just before my eyes,
Had I the pinions of a dove, I'd to those regions rise;
2. While I'm imprisoned here below, In anguish, pain and smart,
Sometimes those troubles I forego, When love sustains my heart;
I'd rise superior to my pain, With joy outstrip the wind,
In darkest shadows of the night, Faith mounts the upper sky,
I'd cross proud Jordan's swelling flood, And leave the world behind. hind.
I then behold my heart's delight, And would rejoice to die. die.

3. A few more days or years at most

Time was you heard the music of a sigh,
And Love awoke; and with it Song was born,—
Song glad as young birds carol in the morn,
And tender as the blue and brooding sky,
When all the earth feels Spring's warm witchery,
And with fresh flowers her bosom doth adorn;
And lovers love, and cannot love forlorn,
Since Love is of the gods, and may not die.

In after years may come some wildering light,—
Some sweet delusion, followed for a space,—
Such fitful fire-flies flash athwart the night,
But fade before the shining of that face

Soft ruler of the feeling heart,
Whose very pains more bliss impart
Than stupid Folly's joy—
Delightful Love! my soul inspire,
Teach me to tune I ERNE'S Lyre
To social amity.

Warm'd by thy beautifying ray,
The gentle virgin's charms display
A more resistless grace;
Thy presence decks her lovely mein,
And points her eyes with light serene,
Mild-beaming o'er her face.

Fair sister of meek Charity,
O! condescend to live with me,
Thy willing votary;
My mind with lively pity move,

Down in the valley,
Valley so low,
Hang your head over,
Hear the train blow.

Hear the train blow, love,
Hear the train blow,
Hang your head over,
Hear the train blow.

If you don't love me,
Love whom you please,
But throw your arms round me,
Give my heart ease.

Step right up to me,
Before it's too late.
Throw your arms round me,
Feel my heart break.

I'll write you a letter,
Only three lines:
"Answer my question,
Will you be mine?'

Go build me a castle,

You say this world's dire need is love,
But O, in this be not misled;
Your hope must fiercely shine above
An epicure's indulgent bed.

Better the fiercest hatred born
Than that amœban death in life
That waits, with liquid eyes forlorn,
A happiness exempt from strife:

That octopus whose filthy arms
Would clasp the world to feed its ease:
That siren whose lascivious charms
Are bent her sickly lust to please.

Love stands upon the mountain height
And bids you strain your keenest nerve