love poems for her

Love he to morrow, who lov'd never;
To morrow, who hath lov'd, persever.
The Spring appears, in which the Earth
Receives a new harmonious Birth;
When all things mutual Love unites;
When Birds perform their nuptial rites;
And fruitful by her watry Lover,
Each grove its tresses doth recover;
Loves Queen to morrow, in the shade
Which by these verdant trees is made,
Their sprouting tops in wreaths shall bind,
And Myrtles into Arbours wind;
To morrow rais'd on a high throne,
Dione shall her Laws make known.

The Goddesse bade the Nymphs remove
Unto the shady Myrtle grove;
The boy goes with the maids, yet none
Will trust, or think love tame is grown,
If they perceive that any where
He Arrows doth about him bear.
Go fearlesse Nymphs, for love hath laid
Aside his Armes, and tame is made.
His weapons by command resign'd,
Naked to go he is enjoyn'd:
Lest he hurt any by his craft,
Either with flame, or bow, or shaft.
But yet take heed young Nymphs, beware
You trust him not, for Cupid's fair,
Lest by his beauty you be harm'd;

Admit , thou darling of mine eyes,
I have some idol lately framed,
That under such a false disguise
Our true loves might the less be famed:
Canst thou, that knowest my heart, suppose
I'll fall from thee, and worship those?

Remember, dear, how loth and slow
I was to cast a look or smile,
Or one love-line to misbestow,
Till thou hadst changed both face and style:
And art thou grown afraid to see
That mask put on thou mad'st for me?

I dare not call those childish fears,
Coming from love, much less from thee;

Oh, why wast thou my love?
And why was I thy lover?
I keep blue skies above:
But thou—dull earth for cover.
Then what had Fate to prove,
Save, oh!—the far remove
Of what for me was once thy love
From what remains thy lover?

Thou know'st the place where purple rocks receive
The deepened silence of the pausing stream;
And myrtles and white olives interweave
Their cool grey shadows with the azure gleam
Of noontide; and pale temple columns cleave
Those waves with shafts of light (as through a dream
Of sorrow, pierced the memories of loved hours—
Cold and fixed thoughts that will not pass away)
All chapleted with wreaths of marble flowers,
Too calm to live,—too lovely to decay.
And hills rise round, pyramidal and vast,

The black-winged gull
of love is flying—
hurl of the waters'
futile might!

Tirelessly
his deft strokes plying
he skims free in the licking
waves' despite—

There is no lying
to his shrill mockery
of their torment

You go a long and lovely journey,
For all the stars, like burning dew,
Are luminous and luring footprints
Of souls adventurous as you.

Oh, if you lived on earth elated,
How is it now that you can run
Free of the weight of flesh, and faring
Far past the birthplace of the sun?

All Nature hath its voice.—The meadows have their message.
The river leaping down the rocky narrow passage
Hath its own voice and heart.
Each star hath its own voice, each sun its speech excelling;
The fountain its soft voice of mystery upward welling.
Tongued is the lightning's dart.

Each poet hath his word.—Some in triumphant measure
Sing of the reign of sweet old-world Saturnian pleasure:
Some thunder like the sea.
I sing of Love, Love, Love. I give the world for token
The message that strong Love with sweetness never broken

I live and love as others do
But seldom have the face to woo
A rosy cheek a snowy breast
Doth steal away my tranquil rest
A silent pain my heart doth fill
It pants within but does not kill
Love's a tormenting thing to seek
Withering a heart it cannot break

That face is fair so very fair
Brighter her eyes than others are
And to my eyes those locks so curled
More beautiful than all the world
That form for ever haunteth me
Nought like to it I ever see
Those swelling breasts like billows rise

Jane why dont ye love Jane
In your own sweet arms love come and enfold me
For your face like the Rose is the sweetest that glows
It does my heart good to behold thee
Love—Love Jinney dear
Tis the spring o the year
O let me kiss thy sweet face and enfold thee
Let me lean on thy breast
And be lov'd into rest
For it does my soul good to behold thee
Jane—Jane—why dont ye love Jane
Little lambs love their Mithers and lay by their side
Twa double white Lilies they're full o will nill is
Let them be natures and dress like a bride