love poems

Oh ! what a world it might be,
If hearts were always kind;
If, Friendship, none would slight thee,
And Fortune prove less blind!
With Love's own voice to guide us —
Unchangingly and fond —
With all we wish beside us,
And not a care beyond.
Oh! what a world it might be;
More blest than that of yore:
Come, learn, and 'twill requite ye,
To love each other more.

Her eyes are haunted, eyes that were
Scarce sad when last we met.
What thing is this has come to her
That she may not forget?

They loved, they married: it is well!
But ah, what memories
Are these whereof her eyes half tell,
Her haunted eyes?

Light of heart am I,
Nothing more shall grieve me;
Wherefore should I sigh?
Sighing can't relieve me!
When the blight is shed
Tears cannot efface it;
When the bloom hath fled
Weeping can't replace it!
Light of heart am I,
Nothing more shall grieve me;
Wherefore should I sigh?
Sighing can't relieve me!

Wherefore feel for those
Who feel not for others! —
Hearts that will be foes —
When they should be brothers!
Those we loved — are gone;
Who love us — we find not!

There is a friend, a secret friend,
 In every trial, every grief,
To cheer, to counsel, and defend,—
 Of all we ever had the chief!—
A friend, who watching from above,
 Whene'er in Error's path we trod,
Still sought us with reproving love;
 That friend, that secret friend, is God !

There is a friend, a faithful friend,
 In every chance and change of fate,
Whose boundless love doth solace send,
 When other friendships come too late!
A friend, that when the world deceives,
 And wearily we onward plod,

If to be wishful still to linger near thee
 And in thine absence every moment tell,
If when thou speak'st—I think it heaven to hear thee!
 If this be love —why, then, I love thee well.

If to gaze on when unaware thou seemeth;
 Toying with hawk or hound, by rock or fell;
Moving or lingering, still, like one that dreameth!
 If this be love—then do I love thee well.

To deem her blest, who, as her own might claim thee,
 And round thy path be privileged to dwell;
To be all tremor if I hear one name thee—

If thy form be matchless fair
 'Tis a form that still eludes me,
If thy lips make sweet the air
 They are lips that still exclude me;
Say those eyes are stars of night
 They are stars that oft mislead me;
Say those curls are beams of light
 They from light to darkness speed me.

Say thou'rt proud—thou shouldst be told
 Pride, like ice-drops in the morn, love,
Glittering on some flow'ret cold,
 Ruin what they would adorn, love!
Say thou'rt dear—yet should'st thou know
 Love must on affection feed, love,—

'T IS a love-thought hidden
In a maiden's breast,
Which, though sweetly chidden,
Will not let her rest.
She, in golden vision
Of her love, hath wreath'd
Feelings more Elysian
Than e'er tongue hath breath'd.

Every sorrow losing
In the passion wrought,
There she sitteth musing
O'er her one sweet thought.
Still her fate unseeing,
Love doth all impart;
Beauty fills her being,
Melody her heart.


Thus one name had bound her
In her maiden day;

When first my eyes beheld thee smile
My heart fled to thee in that gaze,
But when I heard thee speak awhile
I ceased thy lovely form to praise!
For higher gifts thy being bore
Than those a beauteous cheek endow;
And if I lost my heart before,
Oh, love, my soul flew with it now! —

And heart and soul shall still be thine,
Come what may come of ills the worst;
As faithful to thy life's decline,
As when they wooed and loved thee first!
As birds oft sing their sweetest song

Is it worth the learning,
This love they praise?
Pale lovers yearning
For happy days,
For happy days and happier nights,
For waking dreams of dear delights?
Is it worth the learning?

My heart is burning,
It scorches me;
Is it worth the learning?
What this may be?
Why do I walk alone all day?
" She is in love, " the maidens say.
Is love worth learning?

Was it worth the learning?
He kissed my hand.
Is love worth learning?
I understand,

" WHEN the ways with May-flower whiten,
And before the lilac blooms,
When the songs and feathers brighten
In the forest's bridal rooms;
Though your beauty should forsake you,
And your love itself decay,
I will come, my own, to take you,
If I have to fight my way. "

So her heart at peace reposes
Till the winter-time shall go;
But the lilac and the roses,
And the fruit came, and the snow;
And the years came, and age took her;
All her beauty did decay;
For her lover false forsook her;