love poems

Another day — another day,
And yet he comes not nigh;
I look amid the dim blue hills,
Yet nothing meets mine eye.

I hear the rush of mountain-streams
Upon the echoes borne;
I hear the singing of the birds, —
But not my hunter's horn.

The eagle sails in darkness past,
The watchful chamois bounds;
But what I look for comes not near, —
My U LRIC'S hawk and hounds.

Three times I thus have watch'd the snow
Grow crimson with the stain
The setting sun threw o'er the rock,

A Small Poeme

FIRST WRITTEN 1642: BY THE SAME AUTHOR; TAKEN FROM THE ORIGINALL INTO THIS PLACE COPIED;
1.6.4.6.

Non est forma Satis, nec, quae vult' bella videri;
Debet vulgari more placere Sibi;
Dicta, Sales, lusus, sermonis gratia, risus,
Vincunt Naturae candidioris opus;
Condit enim formam, quicquid consumitur artis,
Et nisi velle subest, gratia tota perit.

TO CINTHIA; COYING IT

N OE LONGER Cinthia; have I spent

There was an old Derry down Derry,
Who loved to see little folks merry;
So he made them a Book,
And with laughter they shook,
At the fun of that Derry down Derry!

I ANTHE took me by both ears and said
You are so rash, I own I am afraid.
Prop, or keep hidden in your breast, my name,
But be your love as lasting as your fame.

Censured by her who stands above
The Sapphic Muse in song and love,
" For minding what such people do,"
I turn in confidence to you.
Now, Forster, did you never stop
At orange-peel or turnip-top,
To kick them from your path, and then
Complacently walk on agen?

Smiles soon abate; the boisterous throes
Of anger long burst forth;
Inconstantly the south-wind blows,
But steadily the north.

Thy star, O Venus! often changes
Its radiant seat above,
The chilling pole-star never ranges —
'Tis thus with Hate and Love.

On love, on grief, on every human thing,
Time sprinkles Lethe's water with his wing.

And if the rope
does not reach
down
far enough
into my heart,
who will fathom
the thoughts
at the bottom

A rowed-in boat,
run
aground
on a sandspit,
oarless
and alone —
like me,
weakened
by the blows
of the buffeting

Unforgettable
is the image
that from my eyes
descends in tears —
showering onto
my sleeves
with moonlight
at break of day.