love poems

O, GATHER me the rose, the rose,
While yet in flower we find it,
For summer smiles, but summer goes,
And winter waits behind it!

For with the dream foregone, foregone,
The deed forborne for ever,
The worm, regret, will canker on,
And Time will turn him never.

So well it were to love, my love,
And cheat of any laughter
The fate beneath us and above,
The dark before and after.

The myrtle and the rose, the rose,
The sunshine and the swallow,
The dream that comes, the wish that goes,

Here sleeps THE Queen; this is the royall bed.
O'th' Damask Rose, sprung from the white and red,
Whose sweet perfume fills the all-filling aire,
This Rose is withered, once so lovely faire,
On neither tree did grow such Rose before,
The greater was our gain, our losse the more.

1

Unto her, his well-beloved, —
Maitreyi his pious wife, —
Spake the saintly Yajna-valkya,
When he took to forest life.
" Worldly wealth and every object
Now I leave behind, my fair,
Katyayani takes her portion,
Thou, Maitreyi, take thy share. "

2

" Worldly wealth and precious objects, "
Asked the pious-hearted wife,
" Will they lead to my salvation,

28

If it be shame to love a pretty woman,
  Then shameful loving is a pretty thing.
And of all things the most divinely human
  Is this:—Love purifies life's Fountain Spring;
And he who has not quaffed that fount is no man—
  I'd rather be a lover than a king.
And then, preach as we will or may, we'll find
That Cupid, dear young god, is sometimes blind.

(T ROADES , A NTISTROPHE , 853)

Love , Love, who once didst pass the Dardan portals,
Because of Heavenly passion!
Who once didst lift up Troy in exultation,
To mingle in thy bond the high Immortals! —
Love, turned from his own name
To Zeus's shame,
Can help no more at all.
And Eos' self, the fair, white-steeded Morning, —
Her light which blesses other lands, returning,
Has changed to a gloomy pall!
She looked across the land with eyes of amber, —
She saw the city's fall, —

They show no inclination
to truly come to blows.

To fall in love
or to fall out of love —
both end in tears.

Parting:
Love for love, the willow grows distant from our boat

Love:
Frozen hands and feet come and gladly meet at night

Donating for sutra-chanting a box she used to carry with her:
That she may know I love her and miss her — clinking a bell, thinking of her, without a moment's interval

There's no color called love in this world, yet how thoroughly it has dyed my heart!