love poems

Love (being blinde) hath wrought me damage sore,
Thou (blinde in this my loving) evill wast,
Nor would I see the snare (being blinde farre more)
Wherein my selfe I did entangle fast:
Yet hath this blindnes harme done unto none,
But unto Beauties Buzzard, me alone.
When blinded Boy did catch my harmlesse Hart,
Thou didst not see the net so intricate
Which bound mee (being blinde, blinde as thou art)
To be a thrall, in this most wretched state:
So that (alone to worke my misery)
Love blinde is, blinde wert Thou, and blinder I.

That shining moon—watched by that one faint star:
Sure now am I, beyond the fear of change,
The lovely in life is the familiar,
And only the lovelier for continuing strange.

Still I love to rhyme, and still more, rhyming, to wander
Far from the commoner way;
Old time trills and falls by the brook-side still do I ponder,
Dreaming to-morrow to-day.

Come here, come, revive me, Sun-God, teach me, Apollo,
Measures descanted before;
Since I ancient verses seek, I emulous follow
Prints in the marbles of yore.

Still strange, strange, they sound in old-young raiment invested,
Songs for the brain to beget—
Young song birds elate to grave old temples benested
Piping and chirruping yet.

This love of nature, that allures to take
Irregularity for harmony
Of larger scope than our hard measures make,
Cherish it as thy school for when on thee
The ills of life descend.

Hail, noble face of noble friend!—
Hail, honoured master hand and dear!—
On you may Christmas good descend
And blessings of the unknown year
So soon to overtake us here.
Unknown, yet well known: I portend
Love starts the course, love seals the end.

Will you be there? my yearning heart has cried:
Ah me, my love, my love, shall I be there,
To sit down in your glory and to share
Your gladness, glowing as a virgin bride?
Or will another dearer, fairer-eyed,
Sit nigher to you in your jubilee;
And mindful one of other will you be
Borne higher and higher on joy's ebbless tide?
—Yea, if I love I will not grudge you this:
I too shall float upon that heavenly sea
And sing my joyful praises without ache;
Your overflow of joy shall gladden me,

“Now I've said all I would, mother;
My head is on thy breast,
And I feel I can die without a sigh,
And sink into my rest.

“And if ever you weep o'er my grave, mother,
Weep not for doubt or sadness;
I shall fall asleep in pain and in grief,
But wake to perfect gladness.”

Mourn not, thou mother of the dead,
That in her youth she died;
for He was with her then Who said:
“Ye that in me abide,
Ask what ye will, it shall be given;
Faith, hope, and love on earth, and Love and Joy in Heaven.”

Solomon most glorious in array
Put not on his glories without care:—
Clothe us as Thy lilies of a day,
As the lilies Thou accountest fair,
Lilies of Thy making,
Of Thy love partaking,
Filling with free fragrance earth and air:
Thou Who gatherest lilies, gather us and wear.

Love understands the mystery, whereof
We can but spell a surface history:
Love knows, remembers: let us trust in Love:
Love understands the mystery.

Love weighs the event, the long pre-history,
Measures the depth beneath, the height above,
The mystery, with the ante-mystery.

To love and to be grieved befits a dove
Silently telling her bead-history:
Trust all to Love, be patient and approve:
Love understands the mystery.

In tempest and storm blackness of darkness for ever,
A fire unextinguished, a worm's indestructible swarm;
Where no hope shall ever be more, and love shall be never,
In tempest and storm;
Where the form of all things is fashionless, void of all form;
Where from death that severeth all, the soul cannot sever
In tempest and storm.