love poems

Now Serena, bee not coy;
Since wee frely may enjoy
Sweete imbraces: such delights,
As will shorten tedious nightes.
Thinke that beauty will not stay
With you allwaies, but away,
And that tyrannizing face
That now holdes such perfect grace,
Will both chaing'd and ruined bee;
So fraile is all thinges as wee see,
So subject unto conquering Time.
Then gather Flowers in theire prime,
Let them not fall and perish so;
Nature her bountyes did bestow
On us that wee might use them: And

No more, vain wretch! such trifling arts pursue,
These public fooleries will never do!
Love's secret flames, like lamps, shou'd bury'd lie,
The very moment they take air, they die.
Women , thro' crowds , can unfeign'd passion spy,
Skill'd, in the rhet'ric of a speaking eye:
But when, regardless of their fame, you move,
Your glare of folly blinds their eye of love .

" A Valentine . "

Though I have loved you well, I ween,
And you, too, fancied me,
Your heart hath too divided been
A constant heart to be.
And like the gay and youthful knight,
Who loved and rode away,
Your fleeting fancy takes a flight
With every fleeting day.

So let it be as you propose,
Tho' hard the struggle be;

How strong is love! what tongue expresse it can,
Or heart conceive, since it made God a man?
How strong is love! which made the God-man dye,
That man might live with God eternally?
Lord! let this love of Thine my heart inspire
With love again, as sparks rise from the fire.
Thy love's a sun, give me a beam from thence,
Which may both light and heat alike dispence,
Light to direct others the surest way
That leads to heaven and everlasting joy:
Heat to preserve in me a constant motion
Of fervent zeal to Thee, and pure devotion;

Love is a treacherous heat, a smothering spark,
Blown up, by children's breath, who shun the dark:
At first, the fire is innocently bright,
Glows gently gay, and scatters warm delight:
But left, neglected, and unquench'd, too long,
The nourish'd flame grows terrible and strong;
'Till, blazing fierce, it spreads on every side,
And burns its kindler, with ungrateful pride,

What need to speak of Love? For Love
Is all the world, as thou and I, True Heart,
Found out long since. And Work? Against the years
God gave us Work, that out of pointless space
Each man might hew His purpose, and be glad.

[ALFRED DE MUSSET]

When fate is cruel and takes away
The hope of day
And spirits gay;
The remedy for misery
Is melody
And Beauty!

'Tis good to find a lovely face
That will efface
In one embrace
All sadness; and to hear above
Sweet airs sung of
An old-time love!

Only a glimpse of Seraph-land,
A glimmer from above
That dwelt a little while;
The rosebud softness of a hand,
Two eyes upturned in love;
The heaven of a Baby's Smile!

August is here; within the ivy leaves
The bees make mournful music, and the sea
Is pale with presaged Autumn and wild songs
Wanton upon the waves ... Strange spirits speak
Within the dusk-winds; phantom-hands implore
Sweet Summer back again. The sunshine stands
Reluctantly upon the mountain-top
Smiling farewell to the awaiting waves.
Already evening brings a scent of frost,
And late the white dew lies upon the lawn.
The harvest moon grows pallid in the sky,
And far the stars seem on their sapphire thrones.

Love is a passion, by no rules confin'd,
The great first mover of the human mind:
Spring of our fate! it lifts the climbing will ,
Or sinks the soften'd soul, in seas of ill:
Science, truth, virtue, sweetness, glory, grace,
All are love's influence, and adorn his race;
Love, too, gives fear, despair, grief, anger, strife,
And all th' unnumber'd woes, which tempest life,

 Fir'd with a daring wish, to paint him right,
What muse shall I invoke to lend me light?
Something divine there lives in love's soft flame,