love poems

Alas that evil things should find this gift,
To be so housed and so caparisoned,
So lapped in silk and so pavilioned
In such sweet tents, that we who darkly lift
Our still illusioned eyes know not to sift
The soaring noble from the falsely fond.
While Virtue like a needy vagabond
With unadmired demeanour makes rude shift.

You were all fair without, not so within.
I looked at you and loved you. Your bright shell
Was opal-hued but not inhabited
By honourable jewels. Like a sin

Fill me my Wine in Cristall; thus, and thus
I see't in's puris naturalibus :
Unmixt. I love to have it smirke and shine,
'Tis sin I know, 'tis sin to throtle Wine.
What Mad-man's he, that when it sparkles so,
Will coole his flames, or quench his fires with snow?

Beyond the sunset's crimson bars,
Beyond the twilight and the stars,
Beyond the midnight and the dark,
Sail on, sail on, O happy barque,
Into the dawn of that To-morrow
Where hearts shall find the end of sorrow
And Love shall find its own!

One was a child's romance,
A girl's bewildering dream,
Woven of fire and dew
And moonlight's silver gleam;
Of the fragrance of the rose,
The glory of the stars,
The flash of sparkling waters,
The sunset's golden bars!
A thing of smiles and blushes,
Quick thrills and throbbing heart,
A strange, mysterious glamour
That bade the tear-drops start.

One was a woman's love,
Woven of many strands,
Richer than braided gold,
Stronger than iron bands;
A love that holier grew

Steal from the meadows, rob the tall green hills,
Ravish my orchard's blossoms, let me bind
A crown of orchard flowers and daffodils,
Because my love is fair and white and kind.

To-day the thrush has trilled her daintiest phrases,
Flowers with their incense have made drunk the air,
God has bent down to gild the hearts of daisies,
Because my love is kind and white and fair.

To-day the sun has kissed the rose-tree's daughter,
And sad Narcissus, Spring's pale acolyte,
Hangs down his head and smiles into the water,

Without ,—dull sky and howling sea,
And the head of St. Gildas' savage abbey,
Wrapped in thought as man can be,
Pacing his cloister absently;
Within,—the mutinous gray monks, met
Where no taper ever raised
The blackness of the oubliette,
Whisper, raging and amazed,
How the lethal dish, though set
For Abelard, had missed its way.
They could only watch and pray.
He might yet be graveward sent
With poison in the Sacrament.
And Abelard, the golden tongue
Of student Paris and Corbeil,

Tired of passion and the love that brings
Satiety's unrest, and failing sands
Of life, I thought to cool my burning hands
In this calm twilight of gray Gothic things:
But Love has laughed, and, spreading swifter wings
Than my poor pinions, once again with bands
Of silken strength my fainting heart commands,
And once again he plays on passionate strings.

But thou, my love, my flower, my jewel, set
In a fair setting, help me, or I die,
To bear Love's burden; for that load to share
Is sweet and pleasant, but if lonely I

I DREAMED I wove a shroud of flowers
For one who loved me young,
My playmate in the childish bowers
Where my first songs were sung;
I dreamed the words, I dreamed the flowers,
And thus the dirge was sung. —

" There was a boy, a lovely child,
Who loved me long ago;
I found him in the lonesome wild
Where buds of boyhood blow;
I loved him in the flowering wild,
And laid him in the snow.

" Many years hath he been gone
Where shades of beauty fare;
They are few who think upon

Long and lovely, cool and white,
She lay beside me all the night.

Long and lovely, hushed and warm,
She touched me, thigh and breast and arm.

My body was one tremulous sense
Of her slight body's eloquence.

I was a drowned man, in the sea
Of her immaculate melody.

Drifting slowly down to sleep,
I longed to laugh, I feared to weep.

While hushed and lovely, cool and white,
She lay beside me all the night.

I do not love you, no, nor all your beauty,
Nor have I terror of your delicate magics;
I love only the silence that around you
Makes a low twilight.

Yet I desire that thunderous storms of passion
For all I am, should surge and clamor through you —
Scattering your follies and your delicate secrets —
Shaking your twilight. —

That like a temple-bell across the darkness
I should forever echo in your spirit,
With tones of legend and of high disaster
Haunting your silence.