love poems

Not farther than a fledgling's weak first flight,
In a low dell, standeth an antique grove;
Dusky it is by day, but when 'tis night,
None may tread safely there, unlit by Love.
In lonelier days, it was my mood to rove
At all hours there—to hear what mirth I might
Of the passionate Lark, the brooding Dove,
And the strong Thrush—all breathers of delight.
When Night's drawn curtains darkened the deep vale,
And the rich music of the day was ended,
Out gushed a sudden song of saddest wail,

For th' Heaven-gifted still an earthly Gift have I!
Some kingly robe, belike? Some jewel priceless-fair?
A Gift no King's or Croesus' yellow heaps could buy:
True love from Woman's heart, this tress of Woman's hair!

In vain!—The punishment that I must bear,
The bitter price that I must always pay
Is that I cannot wash the stain away
Which I have made upon a love so fair.
I sometimes think, that, dark though the despair,
Which binds your being in relentless sway,
It does not your sad heart more fiercely slay
Than the remorse in mine beyond compare—
To give, and have the fulness of return,
To love as few have loved, and then to mar
That spotless love by a belittling scar
Which must a soul beloved forever burn.

I went to learned men and asked the way.
The learned men were lost among their books;
They bade me stand aside, for such as they
For such as me had neither words nor looks.

I went to churches, where beyond my sight
Priests and their servants served great mystery;
Their waves of incense filled the arches' height,
Their waves of music swelled in harmony.
But I stood all alone: and he and he
Who led the great procession had no care for me.

I left their church, and sought the street instead,

Love who will, for I 'll love none,
—There 's fools enough besides me:
Yet if each woman have not one,
—Come to me where I hide me,
And if she can the place attain,
For once I 'll be her fool again.

It is an easy place to find,
—And women sure should know it;
Yet thither serves not every wind,
—Nor many men can show it:
It is the storehouse, where doth lie
All women's truth and constancy.

If the journey be so long,
—No woman will adventer;
But dreading her weak vessel's wrong,

My dear and only Love, I pray
—This noble world of thee
Be governed by no other sway
—But purest monarchy;
For if confusion have a part,
—Which virtuous souls abhor,
And hold a synod in thy heart,
—I 'll never love thee more.

Like Alexander I will reign,
—And I will reign alone:
My thoughts shall evermore disdain
—A rival on my throne.
He either fears his fate too much,
—Or his deserts are small,
That puts it not unto the touch
—To win or lose it all.

But I must rule and govern still,

Silver-green lanterns tossing among windy branches:
So an old man thinks
Of the loves of his youth.

On the last words of what you write to me
I give you my opinion at the first,
To see the dead must prove corruption nursed
Within you, by your heart's own vanity.
The soul should bend the flesh to its decree:
Then rule it, friend, as fish by line emerced.
As to the smock, your lady's gift, the worst
Of words were not too bad for speech so free.
It is a thing unseemly to declare
The love of gracious dame or damozel,
And therewith for excuse to say, I dream'd.
Tell us no more of this, but think who seem'd

Along the Yodo
where they cut wild rice,
when it rains the marsh waters overflow,
like my love,
growing deeper than ever

Love for ever dwells in Heaven,
Hope entereth not there.
To despairing man Love's given,
Hope dwells not with despair.
Love reigneth high, and reigneth low, and reigneth everywhere.

In the inmost heart Love dwelleth,
It may not quenchèd be;
E'en when the life-blood welleth
Its fond effects we see.
In the name that leaves the lips the last, fades last from memory.

And when we shall awaken
Ascending to the sky,
Tho' Hope shall have forsaken,
Sweet Love shall never die.