love poems

The stars were bright as at their birth,
And angel-voices thrilled the air;
When, spirit-like, and pure as fair,
She came to bless our home on earth.

Her new-born life, like budding flower,
Awoke as from the slumbering night,
And smiled to greet the morning light,
And grew in love and artless power.

And, with the lapse of speeding years,
She grew in graces which adorn
The woman, lovely as the morn,
And beautiful 'mid hopes and fears.

With modest mien, enchanting all,

O POWER of Love, O wondrous mystery!
How is my dark illumined by thy light,
That maketh morning of my gloomy night,
Setting my soul from Sorrow's bondage free
With swift-sent revelation! yea, I see
Beyond the limitation of my sight
And senses, comprehending now, aright,
To-day's proportion to Eternity.
Through thee, my faith in God is made more sure,
My searching eyes have pierced the misty veil;
The pain and anguish which stern Sorrow brings
Through thee become more easy to endure.

Now the wheat is in the ear And the rose is on the brere
And blue caps so divinely blue With corn poppy's o' scarlet hue
Maiden at the close o' Eve Wilt thou dear thy Cottage leave
And walk with one that loves thee

When the Evens tiney tears Beads upon the horny spears
And the spiders lace wets through With its pinhead blebs o' dew
Wilt thou lay thy work aside And walk by brooklets dim descried
When my delight could love thee

While thy footfall lightly prest Tramples bye the skylarks nest

A LITTLE hand is knocking at my heart,
And I have closed the door.
“I pray thee, for the love of God, depart:
Thou shalt come in no more.”

“Open, for I am weary of the way.
The night is very black.
I have been wandering many a night and day.
Open. I have come back.”

The little hand is knocking patiently;
I listen, dumb with pain.
“Wilt thou not open, any more to me?
I have come back again.”

“I will not open any more. Depart.
I, that once lived, am dead.”
The hand that had been knocking at my heart

Phillis, for shame let us improve
A thousand diff'rent ways,
Those few short moments snatch'd by love,
From many tedious days.

If you want courage to despise
The censure of the grave,
Though love's a tyrant in your eyes,
Your heart is but a slave.

My love is full of noble pride,
Nor can it e'er submit,
To let that fop, discretion, ride
In triumph over it.

False friends I have, as well as you,
Who daily counsel me
Fame and ambition to pursue,
And leave off loving thee.

I love you truly, truly,
dear, Life with its sorrow, life with its tear, Fades into
dreams when I feel you are near, For I love you truly, truly, dear.
Ah! love, 'tis something to feel your kind
hand, Ah! yes, 'tis something by your side to stand; Gone is the
sorrow, Gone doubt and fear, For you love me truly, truly, dear.

Now on land and sea descending,
Brings the night its peace profound,
And our evening hymn is blending
With the holy calm around.
Soon as dies the sunset glory
Stars of heaven shine out above,
Telling still the ancient story,—
Their Creator's changeless love.

Now, our wants and burdens leaving
To his care who cares for all,
Cease we fearing, cease we grieving;
At his touch our burdens fall.
As the darkness deepens o'er us,
Lo! eternal stars arise;
Hope and faith and love rise glorious

the branch of plum blossoms—
strong fragrance
of the lord I love

—To my love I whisper, and say
Knowest thou why I love thee?—Nay:
Nay, she saith; O tell me again.—

When in her ear the secret I tell,
She smileth with joy incredible—

—Ha! she is vain—O nay—
—Then tell us! Nay, O nay.

—But this is in my heart,
That Love is Nature's perfect art,
And man hath got his fancy hence,
To clothe his thought in forms of sense.

—Fair are thy works, O man, and fair
Thy dreams of soul in garments rare,
—Beautiful past compare,
Yea, godlike when thou hast the skill

In a grove most rich of shade,
Where birds wanton music made,
May, then young, his pied weeds showing,
New-perfumed with flowers fresh growing,

Astrophel with Stella sweet
Did for mutual comfort meet,
Both within themselves oppressèd,
But each in the other blessèd.

Him great harms had taught much care;
Her fair neck a foul yoke bare:
But her sight his cares did banish;
In his sight her yoke did vanish.

Wept they had, alas the while!
But now tears themselves did smile,