love poems

—I WAS a wandering sheep,
—I did not love the fold;
I did not love my Shepherd's voice,
—I would not be controlled.
—I was a wayward child,
—I did not love my home,
I did not love my Father's voice,
—I loved afar to roam.

—The Shepherd sought his sheep;
—The Father sought his child;
They followed me o'er vale and hill,
—O'er deserts waste and wild.
—They found me night to death,
—Famished, and faint, and lone;
They bound me with the bands of love;
—They saved the wandering one.

Come, he said, I love you; I do not know why I love but I love;
Something from you to me, something I feel but do not see,
Prevails on my older self, lifting me clear of the earth,
Not severing the dead from the living,
But making the dead and the living one.

Shall I tell you, O my brother?—shall I offer what today you could not take?
No—no: for the hour, for the day, past this sundown—only silence and love:
Only the hand that reaches, only the hand that takes.

But tomorrow: O the morrow!

Hark! the gentle voice of Jesus falleth
Tenderly upon your ear;
Sweet his cry of love and pity calleth:
Turn and listen, stay and hear.
Take his yoke; for he is meek and lowly:
Bear his burden: of him learn
He who calleth is the Master holy:
He will teach if you will learn.
Then, his loving, tender voice obeying,
Bear his yoke: his burden take.
Find the yoke, his hand is on you laying,
Light and easy for his sake.

Ye that labor and are heavy laden,
Lean upon your dear Lord's breast.

Take what thou wilt and leave me love, oh Fate!
Take all I have—friends, honor and fair fame,
Turn me to laughter in the eye of hate,
Clothe me with scorn and bind my brow with shame,
Give me for bread the bitter fruit of care,
Give me to drink the poison-wine of pain,
Seal me with sleepless sorrow and despair—
Take all, change all, oh Fate! so love remain.

Fleecy and white the clouds are westward streaming;
On mart and street, as the dank mist retires,
Smiles out the sky: the sun's triumphant fires
Greet the vast world with human labour teeming.

All rose-red stands the great cathedral, seeming
To shout hosannas with its thousand spires
And saints of gold: while the brown-feathered choirs
Of wheeling falcons swoop around it screaming.

E'en so, when love's sweet smile hath set me free
From the dark clouds that weighed on me so long,
My soul expands and suns itself: I see

The union of thy heart and mine,
Ah yes! I know 'tis all a dream:
For I am dark, in life's decline—
Round thee the noon-day splendours beam:
But let this fair tho' flickering gleam
Of fancied love one moment shine;
Thou mayst afford at least to seem
For one brief moment to be mine.

Haste not at once to break the spell—
Before thee is the long long day
With gayer hearts than mine to dwell,
In laughing meads far off to stray:
One little hour beside me stay,
And let the conscious dream go on;

Where Helen sits, the darkness is so deep,
No golden sunbeam strikes athwart the gloom;
No mother's smile, no glance of loving eyes,
Lightens the shadow of that lonely room.

Yet the clear whiteness of her radiant soul
Decks the dim walls, like angel vestments shed.
The lovely light of holy innocence
Shines like a halo round her bended head,
Where Helen sits.

Where Helen sits, the stillness is so deep,
No children's laughter comes, no song of bird.
The great world storms along its noisy way,

Sweet nymphs, if, as ye stray,
Ye find the froth-borne goddesse of the sea,
All blubb'red, pale, undone,
Who seeks her giddy son,
That little god of love,
Whose golden shafts your chastests bosomes prove,
Who leaving all the heavens hath run away;
If ought to him that finds him she'll impart,
Tell her he nightly lodgeth in my heart.

Just Home and Love! the words are small
Four little letters unto each;
And yet you will not find in all
The wide and gracious range of speech
Two more so tenderly complete:
When angels talk in Heaven above,
I'm sure they have no words more sweet
Than Home and Love.

Just Home and Love! it's hard to guess
Which of the two were best to gain;
Home without Love is bitterness;
Love without Home is often pain.
No! each alone will seldom do;
Somehow they travel hand and glove:
If you win one you must have two,

He is Sadhu, he is perfect: his words are true, his heart is brave.
He, O Dadu, is a mighty muni, who ever stands before the Lord.
He is true, he is faithful, he is devout and virtuous.
He is wise, he is learned, whose love is given to Bhagwan.
Dadu, he is Jogi and Jangam: he is Sufi, he is Sheikh.
He is Sanyasi, he is mighty: Dadu, at once and many.
He is Qazi, he is Mulla: he is the faithful Musalman.
He is wisest, best of all, whose love is given to Rahman.
Traffic in Rama's name is opened, and a mart therefor established.