love poems

WHO DIED DECEMBER THE 26TH, AGED 42 .

What ! though such various worth is seldom known,
No adulation rears this sacred stone,
No partial love this genuine picture draws,
No venal pencil prostitutes applause:
Justice and truth in artless colours paint
The Man, the Friend, the Preacher, and the Saint.

In answer to a Letter which was full of Love, Comfort and Humility

FIRST PART

1.

In Jesus loving frind! What love does thou inherit!
How glows, & burns thy Heart in true drift of the Spirit!
In truth a Seraphim has thus thy Soul inflamed,
And has with his bright Glance, & Beams upon thee gleamed.

2.

Thy tongue does really drop with Honey, sweet affected
And ev'ry syllable is with a kiss directed:

FIRST PART

1.

A True Friend came to see Johann in his Recesses;
In quiet Solitude, in lonesom wildernesses;
For He was deadly Sick, & lonesom Day by day;
For joy to see his frind he fainted quite away.

2.

The frind embraced him, with trying to relieve him,
Tho 'twas a pretty while before John could perceive him,
Johannes, says the frind, I know what troubles thee,

This Present from a lovely Dame,
Fair and unsully'd, as her Fame,
Shall to Hibernia be convey'd,
Where once, rever'd, her Father sway'd;
And taught the drooping Arts to smile,
And with his Virtues bless'd our Isle.

Voice that blesses, eyes that light,
Vision on the vestal height,
Bright One,
White One,
Lead aright!

Chaste as lily, mild as dove,
Brave as eagle, fair as love,
Fold us,
Hold us,
Lead above!

Mystic mountains all untrod
We shall pass, with patience shod;
Featly,
Sweetly,

Ye walls, for gallantry and knighthood fam'd,
Which oft with sounds of social pleasure rung;
Ye groves and lawns, where Waller's tuneful tongue
To gales and murm'ring streams his love proclaim'd,
And each wild echo Sacharissa nam'd;
Your white cascades, with foamy tumult flung
Down the steep slope, and glades so sweetly sung;
No poet now explores with feet unblam'd.
Yet suffer me to breathe your vernal gales,
A poet, no! but of that gentle train,
Who love to mark in woods and pathless vales

The longest night of the year, they say;
By four of the clock, the dark comes down,
And the hills loom dim and far away,
While the lights wink out in the big, vague town.

And yet, O Love, of the nights I know,
This night was briefest, — so brief, so blest.
For you came and gave me your heart, and so
Time was nothing and darkness best!

When Love and Beauty wander away,
And there's no more hearts to be sought and won,
When the old earth limps thro' the dreary day,
And the work of the Seasons cry undone:
Ah! what shall we do for a song to sing,
Who have known Beauty, and Love, and Spring?

When Love and Beauty wander away,
And a pale fear lies on the cheeks of youth,
When there's no more goal to strive for and pray,
And we live at the end of the world's untruth:
Ah! what shall we do for a heart to prove,
Who have known Beauty, and Spring, and Love?

A LONG comes Love,
In the semblance of a boy,
And he rings a little bell,
And he sings a little song:
Lo, the change thereof!
Heaven after hell,
Beauty healing wrong,
And grief turned joy!

At times, when, with an anguish all too keen,
The violin doth tensely tell of grief,
Tugging at heart-strings till the tale, I ween,
Is over-cruel, calls for some relief:
I joy to hear, like cooings of lost doves,
The grave viola plaining of old loves.