love poems

THE DOUBTERS .

Y E love, and sonnets write! Fate's strange behest!
The heart, its hidden meaning to declare,
Must seek for rhymes, uniting pair with pair:
Learn, children, that the will is weak, at best.

Scarcely with freedom the o'erflowing breast
As yet can speak, and well may it beware;
Tempestuous passions sweep each chord that's there,
Then once more sink to night and gentle rest.

On Petrarch's heart, all other days before,
In flaming letters written, was impress'd
Good F RIDAY . And on mine, be it confess'd,
Is this year's A DVENT , as it passeth o'er.

I dOnot now begin, — I still adore
Her whom I early cherish'd in my breast,
Then once again with prudence dispossess'd,
And to whose heart I'm driven back once more.

The love of Petrarch, that all-glorious love,
Was unrequited, and, alas, full sad;
One long Good Friday 'twas, one heartache drear;

The remembrance of the Good
Keep us ever glad in mood.

The remembrance of the Fair
Makes a mortal rapture share.

The remembrance of one's Love
Blest is, if it constant prove.

The remembrance of the One
Is the greatest joy that's known.

Through rain, through snow,
Through tempest go!
'Mongst steaming caves,
O'er misty waves,
On, on! still on!
Peace, rest have flown!

Sooner through sadness
I'd wish to be slain,
Than all the gladness
Of life to sustain;
All the fond yearning
That heart feels for heart,
Only seems burning
To make them both smart!

How shall I fly?
Forestwards hie?
Vain were all strife!
Bright crown of life,
Turbulent bliss, —
Love, thou art this!

If I, dearest Lily, did not love thee,
How this prospect would enchant my sight!
And yet if I, Lily, did not love thee,
Could Ifind, or here, or there, delight?

Ah ! who'll e'er those days restore,
Those bright days of early love!
Who'll one hour again concede,
Of that time so fondly cherish'd!
Silently my wounds I feed,
And with wailing evermore
Sorrow o'er each joy now perish'd.
Ah! who'll e'er the days restore
Of that time so fondly cherish'd!

She comes each morning
with the sea on her head.

Fresh oysters for sale, fresh oysters!
She cries like the sunlight,

wrinkles rippling
though there isn't a puff of wind,

hands filled with thunderous storm clouds.

When will it rain,
when will it rain?

Her firm buttocks
are rolling breakers.

Faster than the dark,
lighter than a bird,

lovely, so lovely,
she strides beside the sun.

In sunlight suffused
with the glow of apples

on thin, distant branches
in orchards near Taegu,

morning shakes, as the train,
like an illness,
reaches now the height of its fever.

Love, my love
so far away:

in moments like this
even silk
round my waist

That person's name escapes me now
but her eyes and her lips
remain in my heart.

Even when the winds blow,
even when the rains fall,
outside the window, I can't forget
that night of streetlight shadows.

When love passes
what remains of the past —
a lakeside on a summer's day,
a park in autumn,
on that park bench,
the leaves falling,
the leaves turning to dust,
covered with leaves,
though we say love disappears —
that person's name escapes me now
but her eyes and her lips

Tapping, tapping the carved wooden fish,
overcome by drowsiness,

the lovely young monk
has drifted into sleep.

As the Buddha wordlessly
smiles, just smiles,

along the thousand league western border

under a dazzling evening sky,
peonies fall and fall.