love poems

A kind war-wave dashed thee and me together;
So we have drifted to the shores of peace,
A wintry shore, attained in wintry weather.
Must here our loving cease?

Ah, was not ancient Love born of the ocean?
And is not our Love a tempest child
That rose from out the seething war's commotion
And blessed it, as she smiled?

The buffets of this storm I have forgiven,
And all its drunken, rude barbarity,
Aye, I have begged a blessing on't from heaven
Because it brought me thee!

I asked my heart to say
Some word whose worth my love's devoir might pay
Upon my Lady's natal day.

Then said my heart to me:
Learn from the rhyme that now shall come to thee
What fits thy Love most lovingly.

This gift that learning shows;
For, as a rhyme unto its rhyme-twin goes,
I send a rose unto a Rose.

Consumed by love of Beauty, and aflame
At human heart with half-celestial fire,
Kindled by torch of sensuous desire,
At once his torment, happiness, and shame,
A glow more fierce than frosty age could tame,
Buonarroti taught this blaze aspire
Burning to sacred incense on the pyre
Of pure devotion to Colonna's name.
Yet even when kneeling on the brink of death,
Praying for grace, confessing earthly love,
He would condone it with a chastening rod,
And justify, with penitential breath,

More strange than death to all regrets,
Love gives no tear to passion sped:
Its frozen heart at once forgets
The wronged, the absent, and the dead.
We see the wave that Venus rides, —
We do not see the doom it hides.

Fierce, boundless, fetterless, supreme,
Relentless, glorious, mindless, gay,
Love grants us one supernal dream,
One vision, one ecstatic day;
In fate's dull book one fiery page, —
Of bliss an hour, of woe an age.

Be the red roses never more
Companions to a thought of mine!

Snowdrops in my garden grow,
Tulips there and jonquils blow,
Hyacinths and asphodels,
Pinks and Canterbury-bells: —
Lady-in-the-Green grows there,
And Love-in-a-Mist
Springs up wild!
Mother says I'm but a child,
I do not care!
Lady-in-the-Green grows there,
Love-in-a-Mist springs up wild.

Prince's-feather, hollyhock,
Poppy, primrose, four-o'clock,
Marigold and violet,
Lavender and mignonette: —
Lady-in-the-Green grows there,
And Love-in-a-Mist
Springs up wild!

I have a place where I may go,
And keep myself apart;
Sometime a room within a house;
Sometime within the heart,

Of a long bramble by a wall,
Pink-petaled in the clod;
And there I steep in loveliness,
And hear god call to god.

For loveliness is not in bulk;
A rose may harbor me,—
(A thing in need of lovely things)—
Or a tower by the sea.

Afar-off shore
And a beating tide.
With a rustling breeze
Away we ride,—
Sing for the sea,
Sing, sing cheerily.

Swift our painted bow
Cuts the hissing foam,
Swift fly the eddies behind,
Swift we rush towards home,
Sing for the sea,
Sing, sing cheerily.

On the white beach stands,
My love with her flowing hair.
She waves her small hands
For love, not despair;
Sing for the sea,
Sing, sing cheerily.

O! blow heavy breeze,
Bend our mast, load our sail.

Oh, you who love me not, tell me some way
Whereby I may forget you for a space;
Nay, clean forget you and your lovely face —
Yet well I know how vain this prayer I pray.
All weathers hold you. Can I make the May
Forbid her boughs blow white in every place?
Or rob June of her rose that comes apace?
Cheat of their charm the elder months and gray?
Aye, were you dead, you could not be forgot:
So sparse the bloom along the lanes would be;
Such sweetness out the briery hedges fled;
My tears would fall that you had loved me not,

Faith

The spreading circle of the known,
That Science strives to bound with laws,
Is but a glowing sparkle thrown
From God, the radiant central cause.

His mystery is vaster far
Than knowledge is or e'er can be;
The wheel of Evolution's car
Rolls onward through eternity.

A stilly voice forever sounds
The lapses of our doubt between:

O Love, he went a-straying,
A long time ago!
I missed him in the Maying,
When blossoms were of snow;
So back I came by the old sweet way;
And for I loved him so,
I wept that he came not with me,
A long time ago!

Wide open stood my chamber door,
And one stepped forth to greet;
Gray Grief, strange Grief, who turned me sore
With words he spake so sweet.
I gave him meat, I gave him drink;
(And listened for Love's feet).
How many years? I cannot think;
In truth, I do not know —