love poems

On Receiving from her a Network Purse made by Herself

M Y gentle Anne, whom heretofore,
When I was young, and thou no more
Than plaything for a nurse,
I danced and fondled on my knee,
A kitten both in size and glee!
I thank thee for my purse.
Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love: — that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;
I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above

WOULD my Delia know if I love, let her take
My last thought at night, and the first when I wake;
With my prayers and best wishes preferr'd for her sake.

Let her guess what I muse on, when rambling alone
I stride o'er the stubble each day with my gun,
Never ready to shoot till the covey is flown.

Let her think what odd whimsies I have in my brain,
When I read one page over and over again,
And discover at last that I read it in vain.

Let her say why so fix'd and so steady my look,

When there's love as unrecognized as a lily, a firefly goes about, revealing it himself

Wakeful for last year's call that I loved — still, it's as fresh as ever when the cuckoo comes

Neglectful, I have not died of love — another year gone, counting on meeting you by living on

Look, this must be love that fills the sky! As soon as the thought rises, smoke smolders

The Rose is Love's own flower, and Love's no less
The Lily's tenderness.
Then half their dignity must Roses yield
To Lilies of the field?
Nay, diverse notes make up true harmony,
All-fashioned loves agree:
Love wears the Lily's whiteness, and Love glows
In the deep-hearted Rose.

Too cold almost for hope of Spring
Or firstfruits from the realm of flowers,
Your dauntless Valentine, I bring
One sprig of love, and sing
" Love has no Winter hours " — .

If even in this world love is love
(This wintry world which felt the Fall),
What must it be in Heaven above
Where love to great and small
Is all in all?

If I had words, if I had words
At least to vent my misery: —
But muter than the speechless herds
I have no voice wherewith to cry.
I have no strength to life my hands,
I have no heart to lift mine eye,
My soul is bound with brazen bands,
My soul is crushed and like to die.
My thoughts that wander here and there,
That wander wander listlessly,
Bring nothing back to cheer my care,
Nothing that I may live thereby.
My heart is broken in my breast,
My breath is but a broken sigh —

They lie at rest asleep and dead,
The dew drops cool above their head,
They knew not when past summer fled —
Amen .

They lie at rest and quite forget
The hopes and fears that wring us yet;
Their eyes are set, their heart is set —
Amen .

They lie with us, yet gone away
Hear nothing that we sob or say
Beneath the thorn of wintry may —