love poems

Oh, tell ye not my lover,
Lest he perchance should sorrow at the tale,
That from the time we parted
My cheek grew pale;
Tell him not, though he left me, — for a bride
Beauteous, I own, as the bright moon above her, —
Tell him not that I died
Love-lorn and broken-hearted.

Say not how I have perished;
Oh! no, no, no, — say you not that I pined,
Because I was forsaken,
Or he unkind:
Say that for his sweet wife I ever prayed,
And that his dear, dear name I ever cherished,
Till I to sleep was laid

LOVE , that Love cannot share,
Now turn to air!
And fade to ashes, O my daily bread;
Save only if you may
So be the stay
Of the uncomforted.

Look down, you far-off lights,
From smoke-veiled heights, —
If there be dwelling in our wilderness!
For Love, the Refugee,
No stronghold can there be, —
No shelter more, while these go shelterless.

Love hath no home beside
His own two arms spread wide; —
The only home, among all walls that are;
So there may come to cling,

The doves fly out, the doves fly in,
Brighter than cloud above,
From thee to me, and again to thee,
Out of my heart, O Love.

My heart is troubled and hushed with wings
From the deep, beneath, above;
And the hovering flight of more white things
Than Earth hath the gladness of.

After one call they follow, all: —
Thy call to me, O Love:
Lightning out of the blue, but mine
In the likeness of the Dove.

Truly , Love is blind.
All my wish and will,
That he takes for me:
Sure Love cannot see,
That he thinks so, still!

Truly, Love is blind;
But he hears, instead.
He hath such fine ears,
Far away he hears
Little words unsaid.

Truly, Love is blind;
For the merest touch,
Hover of a breath,
Smiling underneath,
He will take for much.

Blind, and without fear!
Even so, I find
He would have me here
Always, very near.
Truly, Love is blind.

My body was part of the sun and the dew,
Not a trace of my death to me clave,
There was scarce a man left on the earth whom I knew,
And another was laid in my grave.
I was changed and in heaven, the great sea of blue
Had long washed my soul pure in its wave.

My sorrow was turned to a beautiful dress,
Very fair for my weeping was I;
And my heart was renewed, but it bore none the less
The great wound that had brought me to die,
The deep wound that She gave who wrought all my distress;

Now I am on the earth,
What sweet things love me?
Summer, that gave me birth,
And glows on still above me;
The bird I loved a little while;
The rose I planted;
The woman in whose golden smile
Life seems enchanted.

Now I am in the grave,
What sweet things mourn me?
Summer, that all joys gave,
Whence death, alas! hath torn me;
One bird that sang to me; one rose
Whose beauty moved me;
One changeless woman; yea, all those
That living loved me.

There is an earthly glimmer in the Tomb:
And, healed in their own tears and with long sleep,
My eyes unclose and feel no need to weep;
But, in the corner of the narrow room,
Behold Love's spirit standeth, with the bloom
That things made deathless by Death's self may keep.
O what a change! for now his looks are deep,
And a long patient smile he can assume:
While Memory, in some soft low monotone,
Is pouring like an oil into mine ear
The tale of a most short and hollow bliss,
That I once throbbed indeed to call my own,

IN PRAISE OF MISS ISABELLA JOHNSTON, AFTERWARDS MRS. LAWS OF SPRINGWELL, THE POET'S COUSIN .

I gave my love a chain of gold
Around her neck to bind;
She keeps me in a faster hold,
And captivates my mind.

Methinks that mine's the harder part:
Whilst, 'neath her lovely chin,
She carries links outside her heart,
My fetters are within.

I had a heart that doted once in passion's boundless pain,
And though the tyrant I abjured I could not break his chain;
But now that Fancy's fire is quenched, and ne'er can burn anew,
I've bid to Love for all my life adieu! adieu! adieu!

I've known, if ever mortal knew, the spells of Beauty's thrall,
And, if my song has told them not, my soul has felt them all;
But Passion robs my peace no more, and Beauty's witching sway
Is now to me a star that's fallen — a dream that's passed away.

I GAVE her a rose in early June,
Fed with the sun and the dew,
Each petal I said is a note in the tune,
The rose is the whole tune through and through,
The tune is the whole red-hearted rose,
Flush and form, honey and hue,
Lull with the cadence and throb to the close,
I love you, I love you, I love you.

She gave me a rose in early June,
Fed with the sun and the dew,
Each petal she said is a mount in the moon,
The rose is the whole moon through and through,
The moon is the whole pale-hearted rose,