love poems

ON THE DEATH OF A BELOVED SON AND ONLY CHILD .

M Y olive plant, so green and fair;
My budding hope, my dearest care;
My only one! He only knew
Who gave — and, ah! how soon withdrew
The precious gift — how dear I loved
My plant on earth; and though removed
To higher climes and brighter skies,
With mournful tread and weeping eyes
I wander round his early tomb —
But light from heaven dispels the gloom!
An angel voice falls on my ear,
" Whom seek'st thou, weeping mother, here?

To be fainthearted, to be bold, to be raging mad,
surly, tender, generous, aloof,
courageous, near death, dead, alive,
loyal, treacherous, cowardly, spirited.

Not to find, beyond your lover, satisfaction or peace.
To look happy, sad, humble, arrogant,
irate, valiant, self-effacing,
satisfied, offended, distrustful.

To turn your face from clear proofs of deceit,
to drink poison as if it were a soothing liquor,
to disregard gain and delight in being injured.

To believe that heaven can lie contained in hell;

As one whose eyes, by gleam of waters caught,
Should find them strewn with pansies, so to me
It chanced that morning, as I bow'd the knee,
Soliciting th' approach of hallow'd thought;
I dream'd not that so dear a tomb was nigh;
My sidelong glance the lucid marble drew,
And, turning round about enquiringly,
I found it letter'd with the names I knew;
Three precious names I knew, and loved withal,
Yea, knew and loved, albeit too briefly known —
Louisa, Henry, and the boy just grown
To boyhood's prime, as each received the call;

My vnkinde Loue, or she that loues me deare,
Neptune will haue cast forth to calme the Seas.
One of these two, or all must perish here:
And therefore now, which shall I saue of these?
Ah! doe I make a question which to saue,
When my desires share but one onely part!
Who should it be but she to whom I haue
Resign'd my life, and sacrific'd my hart?
She, she must liue, the tempests of whose brow
Confound me more then all these stormes can doo,

I.

Hear you not the merry sound?
Gather to the fairy round,
'Tis the hour, 'tis the hour,
When the gentle signs abound, —
When the bud begins to flower,
When the moon, with placid power,
Soothes and lights the happy ground.

II.

Leap you not to that array,
Purest hearts in pleasant play? —
Would you lose, would you lose,
Aught of such a holiday, —

Here what remaines of him does ly,
Who was the world's epitomy:
Religion's darling, merchants glory,
Men's delight, and vertue's story
Who, though a Prisoner to the Grave,
A glorious freedome once shall have:
Till when no monument is fit,
But what's beyond our Love or Wit.

Never again the sight of her?
Never her winsome smile
Shall light the path of my journeying
O'er many a weary mile?
Never again shall her soft voice come
To cheer me all the while?
O Thou, who hearest from above,
Tell me, is this the price of love?

Never again the touch of her lips?
Never her dark, brown eyes
Shall shine on me with the dancing joy
Of stars in the summer skies?
Never again shall my song be aught
Save minor chords of sighs?
O Thou, who hearest from above,

What love is; how I love; how builders' clay
By love is lit into a golden spending;
How love calls beautiful ghosts back to the day;
How life because of love shall have no ending —
These with the dawn I have begun to sing,
These with the million-budded noon that's rising
Shall be a theme, with love's consent, to bring
My song to some imperishable devising.
And may the petals of this garland fall
On every quarrel, and in fragrance bless
Old friendship; and a little comfort all
The weary loves that walk the wilderness,

I

A T any moment love unheralded
Comes, and is king. Then as, with a fall
Of frost, the buds upon the hawthorn spread
Are withered in untimely burial,
So love, occasion gone, his crown puts by,
And as a beggar walks unfriended ways,
With but remembered beauty to defy
The frozen sorrows of unsceptred days.
Or in that later travelling he comes
Upon a bleak oblivion, and tells
Himself, again, again, forgotten tombs
Are all now that love was, and blindly spells
His royal state of old a glory cursed,

I WOULD no sweeter treasure know
From your dear love than I can give,
And in such peace as you bestow
I pray for you to live.

Star to rejoicing star shall move
And flower on happy flower shall shine,
But all the sorrows of our love, —
Let these be wholly mine.

Yet that is treason. For I bear
No prouder heart than is your own,
And you would scorn the love would share
Delight and grieve alone.