love poems

Save that there may be one love-garnering breast
Will hold us unforgotten when we die,
From all the paths that most familiar lie
We shall be missed but few brief days at best.
Noteless as noiseless pass we to our rest;
Slip from the ear and tongue as from the eye.
Earth knows no break, no change to signify
Absence or loss; and Time and Nature, lest
In our behalf remonstrant they appear,
Make stealthy haste to blur and cover o'er
The stone's laborious lettering before
The yielding mound that settles year by year

You that unto your Mistresse eyes
Your hearts do sacrifice,
And offer sighs or tears at Loves rich shrine,
Renounce with me
Th'Idolatrie,
Nor this Infernal Power esteem divine.

The Brand, the Quiver, and the Bow,
Which we did first bestow,
And he as tribute wears from every Lover,
I back again
From him have ta'ne,
And the Impostor now unvail'd discover.

I can the feeble Child disarm,
Unty his mystick charm,
Devest him of his Wings, and break his Arrow;
We will obey

1.

Madam, your beauty and your lovely parts
Would scarce admit poetick praise and Arts
As they are Loves most sharp and piercing darts;
Though, as again they only wound and kill
The more deprav'd affections of our will,
You claim a right to commendation still.

2.

For as you can unto that height refine
All Loves delights, as while they do incline
Unto no vice, they so become divine;

Lovely thing to see:, A
through the paper window's hole,
the Galaxy.

LOVE

An old Egyptian monarch, when his arms
Had girt the world, or what he knew thereof,
Wrote on his tomb, " All bow to woman's charms,
The greatest conquerer of the earth is Love. "

I strove with none for none was worth my strife;
Reason I loved, and next to reason, doubt;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life
And put it out.

Love is not blind. I see with single eye
Your ugliness and other women's grace.
I know the imperfection of your face, —
The eyes too wide apart, the brow too high
For beauty. Learned from earliest youth am I
In loveliness, and cannot so erase
Its letters from my mind, that I may trace
You faultless, I must love until I die.
More subtle is the sovereignty of love:
So am I caught that when I say, " Not fair, "
'Tis but as if I said, " Not here — not there —
Not risen — not writing letters. " Well I know

DREAMT AS PARTS OF A NEW PLAY WHICH I WROTE .

H E had been struck with Beauty's glance:—the bower
Was nuptial, and was bless'd with holy rites.
They have a child, as lovely as the morn,
Brought into life, and by a peasant's dame
The sacred charge is nurtur'd:—here's the cot
Known by the willow that hangs over it!

WITH AN AIR THAT SHE WAS TO SING .

T O thee my offspring I commend,
The infant's guide, the parent's friend.
Play with my little helpless birth
Before its hands can leave the earth.

To thee alone its trembling fate,
My hopes and fears, I consecrate;
For it was thy enchanting voice
That made the Nymph I love my choice.

One of Nine Sisters took my heart,
And Love to both resign'd his dart.
The couch was bless'd, — Lucina came,

Love — on Delia's breast reposing!
Love — whose ray her eyes impart!
Love! — in her — thyself disclosing;
Let me find thee — in her heart!