love poems

Was it hundreds of years ago, my love,
Was it thousands of miles away,
That two poor creatures we know, my love,
Were toiling day by day;
Were toiling weary, weary,
With many myriads more,
In a city dark and dreary
On a sullen river's shore?

Was it truly a fact or a dream, my love?
I think my brain still reels,
And my ears still throbbing seem, my love,
With the rush and the clang of wheels;
Of a vast machinery roaring
For ever in skyless gloom;
Where the poor slaves peace imploring,

The time I went to see my Sister
Whom I loved unendurably,
The winter-night's
River-wind was so cold that
The sanderlings were crying.

My Mistres seemes but browne (say you) to mee.
Tis verie true, and I confesse the same:
Yet love I her, although that browne she bee,
Because to please me she is glad and faine.
I loved one most Beautiful before,
Whom now (as Death) I deadly doo abhore,
Because to scorne my service her I found,
I gave her ore, and chose to mee this same:
Nor to be faithfull (thinke I) I am bound
To one in whom no kindnes doth remaine:
This is the cause, for Browne and Pittifull,
I left a faire, but yet a faithlesse Trull.

Love this faire Lasse (said Love) once unto mee,
I lov'd her; love her now (saith he) no more,
When thousand darts within my brest there bee,
And if I love her, he mee threatneth sore:
He saith himselfe is falne in love with her,
And that himselfe fore others hee'l prefer.
His sense is this, He in her beauteous eyes,
Hath found such Amours as nere like were seene:
But thinkes he this shall serve, in cunning wise
To make mee leave, he cousning me so cleene?
In spite of him Ile love, sith hart doth gree

In Love his Kingdome great, two Fooles there bee;
My Ladie's one, my selfe the other am:
The fond behaviour of both which to see,
Who so but nicely markes, will say the same:
Foolish our thoughts are, foolish our desire,
Foolish our harts in Fancies flame to frie,
Foolish to burne in Loves hot scortching fire.
But what? Fooles are we none, my tung dooth lie:
For who most foolish is and fond in love,
More wiser farre than others, oft doth prove.

The flaming Torch (a shadow of the light)
Put out by hastie hand, doth colour change,
And blacke becomes, which seemd before most bright:
Nor so to show is anie mervaile strange:
So was I long a lively fire of love,
The heate whereof my Bodie oft did prove,
But I, at last (by one who moand my woe)
Extinguisht was, by Pitifull Disdaine:
Then if my colour blacke in face doo show,
You need not much to wonder at the same,
Since tis a Signe (by part to know the whole)
That Love made mee a Fire, Disdaine a Cole.

Who joyes in Love? the Hart alone, to see.
Who languisheth in Love? the Hart alone.
Then ist a thing impossible for mee
To joy or languish, since I Hart have none.
Withouten Hart? then tel me, what am I?
Even bones and flesh united cunningly.
The Soule, where ist? Love that hath tane away,
My Bodie onely resteth in his place.
Depriv'd of Soule and Hart, how live? I say,
I live (maintaind by Love) in this strange case.
O wonder strange, the Bodie live to see,
The Hart and Soule in other place to bee.

An Ocean sea of water calme am I,
Wherein kinde Love the forme of fish doth take,
Leaping alongst the shore most wantonly:
Then Ladie, of a Fisher d'on the shape;
Ah, what sweete fishing shall you have to like,
If Love you chance to catch, while he doth bite?
Come then, and nak't into this water hie,
He cannot scape, but (here) perforce must bide,
(Lesse to my hart to save himselfe he flie)
Then quickly strip thy selfe, lay feare aside:
For of this daintie pray, which thou shalt take,

Of constant Love I am the wasted fire,
The furious winde's my Ladies angrie eye,
Who whilst she kindles both through wrathfull ire,
The flame encreaseth, mounting to the skye.
In midst is Love, halfe dead of greevous paine,
And (doubtfull) wyndes about like sparkling flame.
He feares the heate, and trembles, being turnd
Unto this blast, which still more sharpe doth rise;
Nor is his feare in vaine, when so he is burnd:
For one of these must hap in sudden wise,
Either the fire must spoyle him as his pray,

Justly of thee (Love partiall) I complaine,
That at one instant, and with one selfe stroke,
Thou darted hast into my hart with paine
Cold chilly frost, and fierie flaming smoke.
Ay me, within me (both) I secret hold,
And whilst th'one burnes me, th'other makes me cold.
Then Cruell, since thou wilt two contraries
(Against my soule) within my hart shall rest,
Ah yet make peace twixt them in loving wise,
Or els (sweete Love) doo promise this at least;
Flame to my frost, and water to my fire,