love poems

Why do I o'er my paper once more bend?
Ask not too closely, dearest one, I pray:
For, to speak truth, I've nothing now to say;
Yet to thy hands at length 'twill come, dear friend.

Since I can come not with it, what I send
My undivided heart shall now convey,
With all its joys, hopes, pleasures, pains, to-day:
All this hath no beginning, hath no end.

Henceforward I may ne'er to thee confide
How, far as thought, wish, fancy, will, can reach,
My faithful heart with thine is surely blended.

Drink , oh youth, joy's purest ray
From thy loved one's eyes all day,
And her image paint at night!
Better rule no lover knows,
Yet true rapture greater grows,
When far sever'd from her sight.

Powers eternal, distance, time,
Like the might of stars sublime,
Gently rock the blood to rest.
O'er my senses softness steals,
Yet my bosom lighter feels,
And I daily am more blest.

Though I can forget her ne'er,
Yet my mind is free from care,
I can calmly live and move;
Unperceived infatuation

MY love lay there,
In the shadow of my hair,
As my glossy raven tresses downward flow;
And dark as midnight's cloud,
They fell o'er him like a shroud:
Ah! does he now remember it or no?

With a comb of gold each night
I combed my tresses bright;
But the sportive zephyr tossed them to and fro;
So I pressed them in a heap,
For my love whereon to sleep:
Ah! does he now remember it or no?

He said he loved to gaze
On my tresses' flowing maze,
And the midnight of my dark Moorish eyes;

THE LOVE SIN .

None , unless the saints above,
Knew the secret of their love;
For with calm and stately grace
Isolde held ber queenly place,
Tho' the courtiers' hundred eyes
Sought the lovers to surprise.
Or to read the mysteries
Of a love — so rumour said —
By a magic philtre fed
Which for ever in their veins
Burn'd with love's consuming pains.

Yet their hands would twine unseen,
In a clasp 'twere hard to sever;

FROM THE SPANISH. — SIXTEENTH CENTURY

When the day is brightest,
Darkness draweth near;
When the heart is lightest,
Coming grief I fear.

Eyes of heavenly splendour,
Radiance o'er me fling;
But when their light's most tender
I fear its vanishing.

Lips, where passion keepeth
Holiest incense, bend to mine;
But when woman speaketh,

one who loves someone
with the one who doesn't

on a snowy day
my bathed body, a finger
a toe — I love all of it

LUMINOUS passions reign
High in the soul of man; and they are twain.
Of these he hath made the poetry of earth —
Hath made his nobler tears, his magic mirth.
Fair Love is one of these,
The visiting vision of seven centuries;
And one is love of Nature — love to tears —
The modern passion of this hundred years.

O never to such height,
O never to such spiritual light-
The light of lonely visions, and the gleam
Of secret splendid sombre suns in dream —

O never to such long

Oh, raise those eyes to me again,
And smile again so joyously;
And fear not, love; it was not pain
Nor grief that drew those tears from me.
Beloved child! thou canst not tell
The thoughts that in my bosom swell
Whene'er I look on thee!

Thou knowest not that a glance of thine
Can bring back long-departed years,
And that thy blue eyes' magic shine
Can overflow my own with tears,

My love is coming! I take dinner early,
run out the middle gate, to the outside gate, and sit on the step. I shield my eyes with my hand. Is he coming or not? I look at the mountain opposite. Something black and white is standing there: it must be my love.
Stockings clutched to my breast, shoes in my hand, I begin to run,
racing, rolling, faster, still faster, oblivious of dry ground or wet — for I have words of love to say. One quick look tells me all: last year's stripped flax stalks have deceived me.
Luckily