love poems

Love's like a game at Tables, where the die
Of maids' affection doth by fortune fly;
Which, when you think you're surest of the same,
Proves but at best a doubtful after-game;
For if they find your fancy in a blot,
It's two to one if then they take you not,
But, being gam'sters, you must boldly venture,
And when you see the point lie open, enter.
Believe me one thing, — nothing brings about
A game half lost so soon as holding out;
And next to holding out, this you shall find,
There's nothing worse than entering still behind.

I HAVE never loved you yet, if now I love.

If Love was born in that bright April sky
And ran unheeding when the sun was high,
And slept as the moon sleeps through Autumn nights
While those clear steady stars burn in their heights:

If Love so lived and ran and slept and woke
And ran in beauty when each morning broke,
Love yet was boylike, fervid and unstable,
Teased with romance, not knowing truth from fable.

But Winter after Autumn comes and stills
The petulant waters and the wild mind fills

Who loves the rain
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes,
Him will I follow through the storm;
And at his hearth-fire keep me warm;
Nor hell nor heaven shall that soul surprise,
Who loves the rain,
And loves his home,
And looks on life with quiet eyes.

Home to me is laughter . . .
Kisses on my cheek when they're least expected;
Glances filled with gladness;
The happiness in knowing
I'm a portion of
My family's fulfillment.
Home to me . . . is love!

Home to me is laughter . . .
Kisses on my cheek when they're least expected;
Glances filled with gladness;
The happiness in knowing
I'm a portion of
My family's fulfillment.
Home to me . . . is love!

Messenger of Sympathy and Love
Servant of Parted Friends
Consoler of the Lonely
Bond of the Scattered Family
Enlarger of the Common Life
Carrier of News and Knowledge
Instrument of Trade and Industry
Promoter of Mutual Acquaintance
Of Peace and Good Will

Messenger of Sympathy and Love
Servant of Parted Friends
Consoler of the Lonely
Bond of the Scattered Family
Enlarger of the Common Life
Carrier of News and Knowledge
Instrument of Trade and Industry
Promoter of Mutual Acquaintance

'Tis love that blinds my heart and eyes, —
I sometimes say in doubting dreams, —
The face that near me perfect seems
Cold Memory paints in fainter dyes.

'T was but love's dazzled eyes — I say —
That made her seem so strangely bright;
The face I worshipped yesternight,
I dread to meet it changed to-day.

As, when dies out some song's refrain,
And leaves your eyes in happy tears,
Awake the same fond idle fears, —
It cannot sound so sweet again.

You wait and say with vague annoy,

In the dewy depths of the graveyard
I lie in the tangled grass,
And watch, in the sea of azure,
The white cloud-islands pass.

The birds in the rustling branches
Sing gayly overhead;
Gray stones like sentinel spectres
Are guarding the silent dead.

The early flowers sleep shaded
In the cool green noonday glooms;
The broken light falls shuddering
On the cold white face of the tombs,

Without, the world is smiling
In the infinite love of God,
But the sunlight fails and falters

Love beckoned me to come more near,
And wait, two women's songs to hear:
The songs ran sweet, the songs ran clear;
It seemed they never could be done.
One woman sat and sang in shade,
Her still hands on her bosom laid;
The other sat and sang in sun.

" I love my love, " the one song said,
" Because he lifts such kingly head,
And walks with such a kingly tread,
That men kneel down, and men confess;
And women, in soft, sad surprise,
Acknowledge, by their longing eyes,
His beauty and his goodliness.

Sad is the thought of sunniest days
Of love and rapture perished,
And shine through memory's tearful haze
The eyes once fondliest cherished.
Reproachful is the ghost of toys
That charmed while life was wasted.
But saddest is the thought of joys
That never yet were tasted.

Sad is the vague and tender dream
Of dead love's lingering kisses,
To crushed hearts haloed by the gleam
Of unreturning blisses;
Deep mourns the soul in anguished pride
For the pitiless death that won them, —

O WOE to thee, oenone! stricken blind
And poisoned by a darkness and a pain,
O, woe to thee, oenone! who couldst find
No love when love lay dying, doubly slain
Slain thus by thee, oenone!
O, what stain,
Of red like this on hands of love was seen
Ever before or since, since love has been!
O, woe to thee, oenone! Hadst thou said,
" Sweet love, lost love, I know now why I live
And could not die, the days I wished me dead;
O love, all strength of life and joy I give
Thee back! Ah me, that I have dared to strive