love poems

Though it drifts
my way,
can I really be so sure?
A cloud blown
by winds
as it travels
through the sky
is in the end a fickle thing.

Forlorn, I wait
'til this night too
ends with dawn.
How could I have thought
that the sound
of a cockcrow
pains
only those who must part?

The sun
in autumn
swiftly gives way
to darkness,
but to no avail —
at least not for one
who waits
a man
who will not hurry.

To expect him
to be undeterred
by rain —
that would be too much;
but, ah, to be certain,
at least,
of the breaks
between showers!

Such a waste of time!
Gazing up
at the moon
night after night,
thinking
she too will see it —
and feel the same

Should I die of love,
even then
I would continue
to feel rejected —
knowing how halfheartedly
she would say,
" Ah, what a shame. "

The heart
of someone
who refuses to respond—
what
to compare it to?
The rocks and the trees
after all,
do not bear a man

To mine us antient as louing friend, Mr Peter Ferriman

O F my heart's Heau'n through loue (though Hel through sin)
Peter thou keepst the keyes; yet art lockt in

To the right noble Lord, worthy of all loue and honor, the Lord Vicount Lisle

Deere Lord, while I doe muse to finde out words
To suite thy worth, I finde the labour great;
For still so much true Worthines affoords
That fullest words are nothing so compleate
Faine would I do thee honor if I could,
For many deere respects; but ah, alas!
Small is the honor rimes both few and cold
Can giue thy vertues which all praise doth passe
Learning and armes, together with the Muse
(Which trinity of powers Artes heaun selt forth)

I Loue the life that Loue doth most mislike;
That is the life which is most like to Death:
On lifes Hart-strings when Death at last, shall strike
Soules Organs then do sound with sweetest breath!
The Discords of this Life annoy their Eares
Where but Faithes Concords onely sweetly sound:
From Discords Dangers rise: from Dangers, Feares
Which Three, these Three, the Soule, Minde, Body wound!
I would therefore, liue dead to such a life
With the Graue of most obscure estate:
So, dead, to liue as farre from State , as Strife ,