love poems

(Variant)

Song in a play — " Go not to the Wechernyci, Hritz " )

" Go not, I pray thee, to the dance, Hritz!
For there await thee daughters of the witch.

" They burn the straw beneath the bubbling roots —
They'll take your life just when their wish it suits.

" That one with black, black eyes — most potent witch is she;
She knows all roots that grow by river or by tree.

" She knows what each distils — and she loves you!

In Summer, when the days are long,
The roses and the lilies talk —
Beneath the trees young lovers walk,
And glad birds coo their wooing song.

In Autumn, when the days are brief,
Roses and lilies turn to dust —
Lovers grow old, as all men must,
And birds shun trees that have no leaf.

Then, youth, be glad, in love's brief day!
Pluck life's best blossom while you can —
Time has his will of every man —
From leafless hearts love turns away.

No gaudy Rubens ever dare
With flaunting Genius, rosy Loves,
To crowd the scene, in sunshine's glare,
Exposing her the Muse approves.

Let, chaste Poussin, thy shaded stream
Reflect her pensive, tender air;
Let evening veil, with sober beam,
In bashful night the bashful Fair.

When Love was young, in days of yore,
On bended knee full oft I swore
To him alone I'd homage pay;
I'd love forever and a day,
And love with every day the more.

I sang his praises o'er and o'er;
I conned no missal but his lore —
Oh, but the world and I were gay
When Love was young!

His blazonry the morning bore,
And all the larks that sing and soar
Praised him upon their skyward way
... Ah, happy choir of yesterday,
When Love was young!

Is Love at end? How did he go?
His coming was full sweet, I know;
But when he went he slipped away
And never paused to say good-day —
How could the traitor leave me so?

There's something in the summer, though,
That brings the old time back, and lo!
This phantom that would bar my way
Is dead Love's ghost.

His footfall is as soft as snow,
And in his path the lilies blow;
He quenches the just-kindled ray
With which I fain would light my way,
And bids me newer joys forego,
This tyrant ghost.

O YOU , that dwell where shepherds reign,
Arcadian youths, Arcadian maids,
To pastoral pipe who danc'd the plain;
Why pensive now beneath the shades?

Approach her virgin tomb, they cry,
Behold the verse inscrib'd above,
Once too in Arcady was I, —
Behold what dreams are life and love!

I am Raftery the poet, full of hope and love; my eyes without light, my gentleness without misery. Going west on my journey with the light of my heart; weak and tired to the end of my road. I am now, and my back to a wall, playing music to empty pockets.

I LOVE thee — none may know how well,
And yet — I would not have thee love me,
To thy good heart 'twere very hell,
To love me dear, and not approve me.

Whate'er thou lov'st it is not thine ,
But 'tis thyself — then sad it were, love,
If thou for every sin of mine,
Should weep, repent, mayhap, despair — love.

Then love me not — thou can'st not scorn,
And mind — I do not bid thee hate me,
And if I die, oh, do not mourn,
But if I live, do new create me.

Sighing softly to the river
Comes the loving breeze,
Setting nature all a-quiver,
Rustling through the trees!
And the brook in rippling measure
Laughs for very love,
While the poplars, in their pleasure,
Wave their arms above!
River, river, little river,
May thy loving prosper ever.
Heaven speed thee, poplar tree,
May thy wooing happy be!

Yet, the breeze is but a rover,
When he wings away,
Brook and poplar mourn a lover!
Sighing well-a-day!
Ah, the doing and undoing

What can a poor man do but love and pray?
But if his love be selfish, then his prayer,
Like noisome vapour melts in vacant air.
I am a debtor, and I cannot pay.
The alms which drop upon the public way, —
The casual tribute of the good and fair,
With the keen, thriftless avarice of despair
I seize, and live thereon from day to day,
Ingrate and purposeless. — And yet not so:
The mere mendicity of self contempt
Has not so far debased me, but I know
The faith, the hope, the piety, exempt