love poems

An old silver church in a forest
Is my love for you
The trees around it
Are words that I have stolen from your heart.
An old silver bell, the last smile you gave,
Hangs at the top of my church.
It rings only when you come through the forest
And stand beside it.
And then, it has no need for ringing,
For your smile takes its place.

The rhythm of life
Is a jazz rhythm,
Honey.
The gods are laughing at us.

The broken heart of love,
The weary, weary heart of pain,—
Overtones,
Undertones,
To the rumble of street cars,
To the swish of rain.

Lenox Avenue,
Honey.
Midnight,
And the gods are laughing at us.

Oh, when shall I see Jesus,
And reign with him above?
And from the flowing fountain,
Drink everlasting love.

When shall I be delivered
From this vain world of sin?
And with my blessed Jesus,
Drink endless pleasures in.

Oh! had I wings I would fly away and be at rest,
And I'd praise God in his bright abode.

Oh promise me that some day you and
I will take our love together to some sky, Where
we can be alone and faith renew, and find the hollows where those flowers
grew, those first sweet violets of early spring, Which
come in whispers, thrill us both, and sing of love unspeakable that
is to be; Oh promise me, oh promise me!
Oh promise me, that you will take my
hand, the most unworthy in this lonely
land, and let me sit beside you, in your eyes
Seeing the vision of our paradise, Hearing God's message while the

"O Polly, my dear Polly, the war has now begun
And I must march away by the beating of the drum.
Go dress yourself in your best and come along with me,
I'll take you to the war, my love, in the Isle of Germany.'

"O Billy, my dear Billy, listen to what I say.
My feet they are so very sore I cannot march away.
Besides, my dearest Billy, I am with child by thee;
I'm not fitting for the war, my love, in the Isle of Germany.'

"I'll buy you a horse, my love, my Polly, you shall ride
And all my delight shall be a-walking by your side.

Oh never weep for love that's dead
Since love is seldom true
But changes his fashion from blue to red,
From brightest red to blue,
And love was born to an early death
And is so seldom true.

Then harbour no smile on your bonny face
To win the deepest sigh.
The fairest words on truest lips
Pass on and surely die,
And you will stand alone, my dear,
When wintry winds draw nigh.

Sweet, never weep for what cannot be,
For this God has not given.
If the merest dream of love were true

Oh , if the world were mine, Love,
I'd give the world for thee!
Alas! there is no sign, Love,
Of that contingency.

Were I a king, — which isn't
To be considered now, —
A diadem had glistened
Upon that lovely brow.

Had fame with laurels crowned me, —
She hasn't, up to date, —
Nor time nor change had found me
To love and thee ingrate.

If Death threw down his gage, Love,
Though life is dear to me,
I'd die, e'ndash of old age, Love,
To win a smile from thee.

Oh , hush, my heart, and take thine ease,
For here is April weather!
The daffodils beneath the trees
Are all a-row together.

The thrush is back with his old note;
The scarlet tulip blowing;
And white — ay, white as my love's throat —
The dogwood boughs are growing.

The lilac bush is sweet again;
Down every wind that passes,
Fly flakes from hedgerow and from lane;
The bees are in the grasses.

And Grief goes out, and Joy comes in,
And care is but a feather;
And every lad his love can win,

Oh, hark the dogs are barking, love,
I can no longer stay.
The men are all gone mustering
And it is nearly day.
And I must off by the morning light
Before the sun doth shine,
To meet the Sydney shearers
On the banks of the Condamine.

Oh Willie, dearest Willie,
I'll go along with you,
I'll cut off all my auburn fringe
And be a shearer, too,
I'll cook and count your tally, love,
While ringer-o you shine,
And I'll wash your greasy moleskins
On the banks of the Condamine.

Oh , for an hour when the day is breaking,
Down by the shore where the tide is making,
Fair as a white cloud, thou, love, near me,
None but the waves and thyself tOhear me!
Oh, to my breast how these arms would press thee!
Wildly my heart in its joy would bless thee!
Oh, how the soul thou has won would woo thee,
Girl of the snow neck, closer to me!

Oh, for an hour as the day advances,
Out where the breeze on the broom-bush dances,
Watching the lark, with the sun-ray o'er us,
Winging the notes of his Heaven-taught chorus!