love poems

We loved of yore, in warfare bold,
Nor laurelless. Now all must go;
Let this left wall of Venus show
The arms, the tuneless lyre of old.

Here let them hang, the torches cold,
The portal-bursting bar, the bow,
We loved of yore.

But thou, who Cyprus sweet dost hold,
And Memphis free from Thracian snow,
Goddess and queen, with vengeful blow,
Smite, — smite but once that pretty scold
We loved of yore!

Shall any man for whose strong love another
Has thrown away his wealth and name in one,
Shall he turn mocker of a more than brother
To slight his need when his adventure's done?
Or shall a breedless boy whose mother won him
In great men's great concerns his little place
Turn when his farthing honours come upon him
To mock her yeoman air and conscious grace?

Then mock me as you do my narrow scope,
For you it was put out this light of mine:
Wrongfully wrecked my new adventured hope,

Unhappy East (not in that awe
you pay your Lords, whose will is law)
but in your owne unmanly raigne
on the soft sex, and proud disdaine,
what state would bring the valew downe
of treasure which is all their owne,
Their thoughts to worthlesse objects move
who thus suppresse the grouth of Love,
Love that extends the high desire
Love that improves the manly fyer
and makes the price of Beawty rise
and all our wishes multiplyes;
Such high content dwells not in sence
nor can the captiv'd fayre dispence

Such wondrous Faith in my own powers have I
That I can move a mountain if I choose.
But that's a task I don't intend to try.
I love to have the mountain standing by,
With paths to lead me nearer to the sky —
So what's the use?

When spring days come and I have naught to do,
I love to rest beneath some spreading tree,
And gaze aloft into the dreamy blue
And think of all the wonders sweet and true
A gracious Father hath prepared for me —
The earth all fair upon whose verdant breast
I lie at rest;
The freshness of the morn, the joyous birds,
The tuneful lowing of the distant herds;
The lovely mysteries
Of budding trees;
The dawning beauties of the garden-close,
The violet, the daffodill, the rose;
The misty hills now greening in the sun;

They'll doubtless teach the maiden wise
How best to use her sparkling eyes,
And with a glance flashed through the dark
Unerringly to hit the mark.
They'll teach her, natheless, how to say
Her Lover " No " in such a way
That he'll discern in his distress
A " No " is oft a form of " Yes . "

They'll take a maiden free of guile
And teach her clearly how to smile
Flirtatiously, yet innocent
Of consequences consequent.
They'll lecture her on " Methods Sure
To hold a Wavering Swain Secure, "

To noble heart Love doth for shelter fly,
As seeks the bird the forest's leafy shade;
Love was not felt till noble heart beat high,
Nor before love the noble heart was made.
Soon as the sun's broad flame.
Was formed, so soon the clear light filled the air;
Yet was not till he came:
So love springs up in noble breasts, and there
Has its appointed space,
As heat in the bright flames finds its allotted place.
Kindles in noble heart the fire of love,
As hidden virtue in the precious stone:

Whilom Love was like a fire, and warmth and comfort it bespoke;
But, alas! it now is quenched, and only bites us, like the smoke.

Yet many poems have been written
Because the poet was unsmitten;
And many a sonnet has been fashioned
Because the bard was love-impassioned;
And many a lyric has been lyred
Because of loves that have expired.

Be passion dead, unborn, or hot,
Some people write and some do not.

How shallow is this mere that gleams!
Its depth of blue is from the skies,
And from a distant sun the dreams
And lovely light within your eyes.

We deem our love so infinite
Because the Lord is everywhere,
And love awakening is made bright
And bathed in that diviner air.

We go on our enchanted way
And deem our hours immortal hours,
Who are but shadow kings that play
With mirrored majesties and powers.