love poems

Loves Affirmative

Yes, wher less Virtue shines
To Venerate fond Venus shrines
Ther is the greater neede
Of beauties Charme to doe the deede
Else twere a geer
As if to love a thing that were not ther
When faire or good
Or both in all affections Understood
And as a supplement defects to smother
The one is rais'd by'th'setting of the other.

Yes, I agree that soules may place
Their mutuall simpathizing grace
Shot from each hart through eyes

The attributes of true love

We call that patience, when provoakt we can
Deferr revenge but 'tis True Love in Man
And when wich open hand we would express
Our bounties Tribut some stil't Lavishnes
But they Mistake as far as those despise
All steps wherby another man doth rise
Yet think they have Love too, and boast noe less
Than that She is their constant Patrones:

Love begetts Fear

'Twas of thy goodnes (Lord) I had
Knowledg of what was good, what bad
Yet through the ill of nature blind
I followd Sin and leaft thy fear behind
Soe forfaited a Blessing; till
Thou of thy free and gratious will
Sign'dst me a pardon in that stile, repent
And soe eschew all punnishment
Thus then awakend, I began
Thy Judgments, Blessings, Love, and fear to scan
And in a scoal when I them all had waighd
Methought I lov'd (Thee) still, still was afraid.

My tryall and araignment at loves second barr

Why did not some when first I undertook
This task of Love again, guive me my book
The crime is not soe hainous to deprive
Me of my clergy, though again I wive:
My years alow it, and those cannot stay
But each reprive's as bad as cast away
I did confess at first, soe hoapt to find
A salm of mercy but the Judg unkind
Turnd me to such a leaf and line in Her
That the Caldayck is a caracter
Of more facilety and th'Arab scrall
When pointed (by much) more methodicall

A lecture to be mild in love

Whilst that in bleating flocks of snow
The Dounes are clad the meads below
With various heards all covered be
When from the yoak their necks are free.

And all the fields by Ceres blest
Are turnd to ears that never rest
Each naked wood anew receives
A fresh light canopy of leavs.

Under whose secret brainches quires
Of winged singers stirr up fires
Of action whilst the purling spring
Quenches not, but adds fuelling.

The kisses wanton Zephirs threw

We marched out of Gloucester the 19th of June ,
Colours being flying, and soldiers in full bloom;
Little did I think that my true love was so near,
My heart was stole away by Captain Barnard's Grenadier .

My father and my mother confin'd me in a room,
I jump'd out of the window, and I went into the town;
It was my good fortune to meet with my dearest dear,
My heart was stole away by Captain Barnard's Grenadier .

My love goes to the Captain, so valiant and so bold,
He is clothed all in scarlet, and laced round with gold;

Three lilies grew in a garden
That looked upon the sea;
These lilies white, they had a right
To be beloved of me.
I ask no man a pardon
That, all within my garden,
I loved those lilies three.

Three men came in my garden,
Three men from o'er the sea;
One black as night, one gold-bedight,
And one that looked at me,
And praised my growing garden:
I ask my God for pardon,
I loved him of the three.

Strange things come out of the sea:
I loved him well, ah me!

Lovely wings of gold and green
Flit about the sounds I hear.
On my window when I lean
To the shadows cool and clear.
. . . . .

Roaming, I am listening still,
Bending, listening overlong,
In my soul a steadier will,
In my heart a newer song.

OM ONA ! I love thee, thou land of my birth!
Tho' long I have roam'd the world's wilderness o'er,
No spot have I found on the fair face of earth
Half so dear as thy own rocky, sea-beaten shore.

Tho' the world hath not rung with the deeds of thy fame,
Nor history's tablets thy glories have borne,
Yet gems of bright genius, unknown as thy name,
And flowers of fair virtue thy valleys adorn;

Where Truth and pure Piety, join'd hand in hand —
Sweet cherubic sisters, — have made their abode,

A LONG the road in the month of June,
With all the roses in their prime.
The laurel blooms and hears the tune
Of all the birds, for it is their time
Of fullest, fairest singing.

And no man meets awake, a-dream,
A daintier pink on lady's cheek
Than paints those clustered cups that seem
Like nuns demure and over-meek,
So close together clinging.

Some flowers are for city walks,
And some to love's light lattice climb;
And some are noisome on their stalks,
While others scent the summertime