love poems

I STOOD last night on Dante's bridge of woe,
And saw that awful host of those who pass,
Like phantom shadows on a wizard's glass,
In all dread miseries of the stygian throe.
I saw the fated lovers come and go
In agony of love's despair, alas,
Ixion's wheel; and Sisyphus' taunting glass
Escape his lips amid the hellish glow.

But nowhere saw I ill so great as here
Goes grinding sadly, patient day by day,
Jealousy, hate, yon miser aged and grey
Gripping his gold with mocking death anear;

Love thee, dearest? — Hear me. — Never
Will my fond vows be forgot!
May I perish, and for ever,
When, dear maid, I love thee not!
Turn not from me, dearest! — Listen!
Banish all thy doubts and fears!
Let thine eyes with transport glisten!
What hast thou to do with tears?

Dry them, dearest! — Ah, believe me,
Love's bright flame is burning still!
Though the hollow world deceive thee,
Here's a heart that never will!
Dost thou smile? — A cloud of sorrow
Breaks before Joy's rising sun!

Love and be loved! yet know love's holiest deeps
Few sound while living! when the loved one sleeps
That last, strange sleep beneath the mournful sod,
Then Memory wakes, like some remorseful god,
And all the golden past, we scarce did prize,
Subtly revives, with light of tender eyes,
That smiled their soft forgiveness on our wrongs, —
And old thoughts rise, with echoes of sweet songs, —
Soul-nightingales, in pensive twilight born,
To press their throbbing breasts against the thorn
Of sharp regret! till love so blends with pain,

We met — he was a stranger,
His foot was free to roam;
I was a simple maiden,
Who had never left my home.

He was a noble scion
Of the green Highland pine,
To a strange soil transplanted,
Far from his native clime.

And well his bearing pleased me,
For I had never seen
Keener eye, or smile more sunlit,
Or more dignity of mien.

His brow was fair and lofty,
Bright was his clustering hair;
I marvelled that to other eyes
He seemed not half so fair.

I KNEW , sweetheart, you loved me,
I guessed it long ago;
Yet your confession moved me
As this had not been so.

I strode upon the mountains,
I shouted to the skies —
The sunset on the ocean
Brought tears into my eyes.

My heart, aglow with passion,
A blazing sun I bear,
And in love's boundless waters
'T is sinking, great and fair.

A little fame is mine, a little joy,
A hope for things to come from God on high,
A gratitude for every pretty toy,
A patience when the plaything is put by, —
And yet I have not anything, it seems,
Except thy love and all thy lover's dreams.

Thy love alone makes straight the crooked way,
Thy love alone lends courage for the strife,
Thy love it is that floods my night with day
And lifts my eyes to Splendor and to Life, —
Until love came I wondered and was sad,
But now I only know that I am glad!

I never saw the rain so white,
So cold and white,
As on that night
When love seemed dead
And low ghost winds were moving overhead.

I never felt the rain so warm,
So soft and warm,
As through the storm
You came to me
And filled the lonely wastes with ecstasy.

When first we met and meeting thrilled with love,
Not reasoning, not doubting its true worth,
It seemed at last that life again was good
As in the beginning, when God understood
And made for man a Paradise on earth.

You did not fear or question right or wrong,
You did not weigh the greatness of your giving,
But came to me as innocent, as wise,
As Psyche when she looked in Eros' eyes
And knew that life was love and love was living.

I, too, a god became from love of you,
Plucking the stars to fashion thee a chain,

There's wild joy within my heart,
Hope's sunlight warms my brain,
And my thirsty soul drinks Gladness in,
As the earth drinks summer rain;
Flushed Health is leaping through my veins,
My blood is all aglow,
Each pulse has a loud and a stately beat,
And my thoughts are like the snow.

For Woman's Voice of Love hath burst
Like a meteor on my way,
And I live in smiles, like the Sun's bright Isles,
That bask in Eternal Day.
Life never came to me till now,
But pass'd like a restless dream,

They always called her Love's detective,
Thought her inopportune, but harmless.
She looked at life without perspective,
A dry soul, erudite and charmless.

She had a habit of appearing
Just when four lips were ripe for kissing.
“Excuse me if I'm interfering.”
The mild words sounded like a hissing.

And when at last the bomb exploded
Which rent love like a wind-blown thistle,
They never knew that she had loaded,
And primed, and aimed, and fired the missile.