love poems

The morn was bright, and prophesied a day
That was fulfilled — that passed in facile peace
To halt at eve, and fade with slow decrease
Through crimson sunset, gold, and twilight gray
Until the night that leadeth home the stray
Fell darkly down and closed the little lease
Allowed our labour to begin and cease —
The labour that is love, and loves to pray.
Now do the starbeams smile upon the few
Who prayed and loved, and laboured all the hours
Their fields are moistened with a fresher dew,

Of all the spots for making love,
Give me a shady dairy,
With crimson tiles, and blushing smiles
From its presiding fairy;
The jolly sunbeams peeping in
Thro' vine leaves all a-flutter,
Like greetings sent from Phaebus to
The Goddess of Fresh Butter.

The swallows twittering in the eaves,
The air of Summer blowing
Thro' open door from where a score
Of tall rose-trees are growing,
A distant file of hollyhocks,
A rugged bush of tansy,
And nearer yet beside the steps
A gorgeous purple pansy;

O Rose ! console me now
For heaven doth allow
None else, but only thee
To witness here with me,
And keep to-night love's year long flight —
O Rose! a night of grief.

Thy life is sweet as hers
Who met the messengers
Of death and led them back
Along the brightening track,
For she knew more of heaven's far shore, —
O Rose! knew more than they.

As spotless she as thou!
God — loving — did endow
Her soul with all things pure
That here awhile endure.
But deathly sleep my love doth keep —

The love of one who never spoke
A word to her he loved the best,
Whose hidden worship never woke
A thought in her unconscious breast;
The love of one who truly tried
To live for her sweet sake alone,
With thought and labour sanctified
As if herself had seen and known;
The love of one who once or twice,
Just for a moment, held her gaze,
And gathered there a thought of price
To cheer the darkness of the days;
The love of one who looks to stand,
With freer friendship, face to face,

When birds with busy beaks their nests were building
Love found a nest prepared — Love found my heart
I gave him place — to Love who is not yielding
When sheltering Love is sharing Heaven's part?

When little birds were but half-clad with feathers
And all their nests were full of nestlings' play,
My life was full of glad sunshiny weathers,
For growing Love within my heart made gay.

When full fledged broods flew off on wings ungrateful
And lightly left deserted many a nest,

1.

The blue-eyed maidens of the sea
With trembling haste approach the lee,
So small and smooth, they seem to be
Not waves, but children of the waves;
And as each linked circle laves
The crescent marge of creek and bay,
Their mingled voices all repeat —
O lovely May! O long'd-for May!
We come to bathe thy snow-white feet.

2.

We bring thee treasures rich and rare,
White pearls to deck thy golden hair,
And coral-beads, so smoothly fair
And free from every flaw or speck,

One thought — two words and so the lines are lengthened,
And loving souls receiving them are strengthened.

One love — two lives — that join together dearly,
While clefted heaven sheds its rays more clearly.

One soul — two worlds — till dying makes a single,
And all beatitudes forever mingle.

Demurely mute as Marion sits
And dreams, or reads, or draws, or knits,
One might suppose her merely fair,
But one who knows esteems her share
Of wisdom, and her wealth of wits.

For Marion wears the mood that fits,
And when the merry moment flits
Returns to some still sweeter air
Demurely mute.

If that might be which love permits —
A new dream comes, an old dream quits —
One might forget a buried care
And Marion hear the new love swear
The old dead vows — love's favourites —
Demurely mute.

In every Christian song or Christian story
Adam is good and Mother Eve is evil.
Thus do the men keep God for their own glory
And leave their loving women to the Devil!

Roses for love and roses for decoration.
Roses to scent a sentimental nation.
Roses a woman wants but wouldn't reach for.
Roses a man must bring to speak his speech for.
Roses that yield their fields to avid fingers.
Roses that lose their lives to opera singers.
Roses that have to climb a house on cables.
Roses that swim in bowls on dining tables.

Did ever a man see roses as we are?
Did ever a rose pretend to own a star?
Nature and love can never be related.
Never a rose a rose decapitated.