love poems

Made worthy by excess of Love
A wretch thro' power of Happiness,
And poor from wealth, I dare not use.

This separation is, alas!
Too great a punishment to bear:
O take my Life, or let me pass
That Life, that happy Life, with her!

The dazzling charm of outward Form,
The power of Gold, the pride of Birth,
Have taken Woman's heart by storm,
Supplied the place of inward worth.

Is not true Love of higher price,
Than outward Form, tho' fair to see,
Wealth's glitt'ring fairy-dome of Ice,

Two wedded Hearts, if e'er were such,
Imprison'd in adjoining cells
Across whose thin partition wall
The Builder left one narrow rent,
And there most content in discontent
A Joy with itself at strife,
Die into an intenser Life/

Another Version

The Builder left one narrow rent,
Two wedded Hearts, if e'er were such,
Contented most in discontent
There cling, and try in vain to touch!
O Joy with thy own Joy at Strife,
That yearning for the Realm above
Would'st die into intenser Life,

The singing Kettle & the purring Cat,
The gentle Breathing of the cradled Babe,
The silence of the Mother's love-bright Eye,
And tender Smile answ'ring its smile of Sleep.

Come, come, thou bleak December Wind,
And blow the dry Leaves from the Tree!
Flash, like a Love-thought, thro' me, Death
And take a Life, that wearies me.

I have heard of reasons manifold
Why Love must needs be blind,
But this the best of all I hold--
His eyes are in his mind.

What outward form and feature are
He guesseth but in part;
But that within is good and fair
He seeth with the heart.

Dream days of fond delight and hours
As rosy-hued as dawn, are mine.
Love's drowsy wine,
Brewed from the heart of Passion flowers,
Flows softly o'er my lips
And save thee, all the world is in eclipse.

There were no light if thou wert not;
The sun would be too sad to shine,
And all the line
Of hours from dawn would be a blot;
And Night would haunt the skies,
An unlaid ghost with staring dark-ringed eyes.

Oh, love, if thou wert not my love,
And I perchance not thine--what then?
Could gift of men

Like the blush upon the rose
When the wooing south wind speaks,
Kissing soft its petals,
Are thy cheeks.

Tender, soft, beseeching, true,
Like the stars that deck the skies
Through the ether sparkling,
Are thine eyes.
Like the song of happy birds,
When the woods with spring rejoice,
In their blithe awak'ning,
Is thy voice.

Like soft threads of clustered silk
O'er thy face so pure and fair,
Sweet in its profusion,
Is thy hair.

Like a fair but fragile vase,

Oh, I des received a letter f'om de sweetest little gal;
Oh, my; oh, my.
She's my lovely little sweetheart an' her name is Sal:
Oh, my; oh, my.
She writes me dat she loves me an' she loves me true,
She wonders ef I'll tell huh dat I loves huh, too;
An' my heaht's so full o' music dat I do' know what to do;
Oh, my; oh, my.

I got a man to read it an' he read it fine;
Oh, my; oh, my.
Dey ain' no use denying dat her love is mine;
Oh, my; oh, my.
But hyeah's de t'ing dat's puttin' me in such a awful plight,

Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Heigho, but the world is gloomy;
The light has failed and the lamp down hurled,
Leaves only darkness to me.

Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Ah me, but the world is dreary;
The night is down, and my curtain furled
But I cannot sleep, though weary.

Love is the light of the world, my dear,
Alas for a hopeless hoping,
When the flame went out in the breeze that swirled,
And a soul went blindly groping.

By the pool that I see in my dreams, dear love,
I have sat with you time and again;
And listened beneath the dank leaves, dear love,
To the sibilant sound of the rain.

And the pool, it is silvery bright, dear love,
And as pure as the heart of a maid,
As sparkling and dimpling, it darkles and shines
In the depths of the heart of the glade.

But, oh, I've a wish in my soul, dear love,
(The wish of a dreamer, it seems,)
That I might wash free of my sins, dear love,
In the pool that I see in my dreams.