love poems

Heartsease I found, where Love-lies-bleeding
Empurpled all the ground:
Whatever flowers I missed unheeding,
Heartsease I found.

Yet still my garden mound
Stood sore in need of watering, weeding,
And binding growths unbound.

Ah, when shades fell to light succeeding
I scarcely dared look round:
“Love-lies-bleeding” was all my pleading,
Heartsease I found.

O may I dare I breath a word
That thy young heart hath never heard
From me—& yet thy timid eye
Turns on me tenderly & shy
A look that often bids me move
My plea & intercede for love.

O! And I forsooth in love!
I, that have been love's whip;
A very beadle to a humorous sigh;
A critic, nay, a night-watch constable,
A domineering pedant o'er the boy,
Than whom no mortal so magnificent!
This wimpled, whining, purblind, wayward boy,
This signor junior, giant-dwarf, dan Cupid;
Regent of love rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans,
Liege of all loiterers and malcontents,
Dread prince of plackets, king of codpieces,
Sole imperator and great general

The spot where I, upon my winding way,
That maiden met, in beauty's mould designed,
Who, passing swiftly as the hasty wind,
Gave me such bliss as beauteous looks convey;
Gladly to that loved spot I fain would stray,
There carve love-emblems on the tree's fair rind,
With fairest wreathèd flowers my temples bind,
And in cool shade—to dream—my body lay.
But so her glances bright confused my mind,
So was I blinded by her beauteous face,
That long I tottered like a drunken man;
And now, tho' strive my thoughts the best they can,

Not in sleep I saw it, but in daylight,
Clear and beautiful by day before me:
Saw a meadow overgrown with daisies,
Round a cottage white in green embowered;
Statues of the gods gleam in the arbor.
And the lady that I walk with loves me,
With a quiet spirit in the coolness
And the peacefulness of this white dwelling,
Full of beauty waiting till we enter.

A tree is more than a shadow
Blurred against the sky,
More than ink spilled on the fringe
Of white clouds floating by.
A tree is more than an April design
Or a blighted winter bough
Where love and music used to be.
A tree is something in me,
Very still and lonely now.

And art Thou come, blest Babe, and come to me?
Come down to teach me how to come to Thee?

Welcome, thrice welcome to my panting soul,
Which, as it loves, doth grieve that 'tis so foul.

The less 'tis fit for Thee come from above,
The more it needs Thee, and the more I love.

Ah me, dread friends of mine,—Love, Time, and Death:
Sweet Love, who came to me on shining wing,
And gave her to my arms,—her lips, her breath,
And all her golden ringlets clustering:
And Time, who gathers in the flying years,
He gave me all, but where is all he gave?
He took my love and left me barren tears:
Weary and lone I follow to the grave.
There Death will end this vision half-divine.
Wan Death, who waits in shadow evermore,
And silent, ere he give the sudden sign;
Oh, gently lead me through thy narrow door,

My life she takes between her hands;
My spirit at her feet
Is taught the lore inscrutable [,]
The wisdom bitter sweet.

The world becomes a little thing;
Art, travel, music, men,
And all that these can ever give
Are in her brow's white ken.

I look into her eyes and learn
The mystery of tears;
The pang of doubt; the doom that haunts
The fleeting of the years;

And pale foreknowledge, hid from all
But those who fear to know;
And memory's treason, that betrays
Joy to the nameless woe;

O come while youth's bright rosy veil
Beguiles your eyes and mine,
Let's tread the asphodel of bliss,
And drink life's magic wine:
Soon time will rend the gossamer,
To wisdom's cruelty,
While we are blind, my love, be kind,
For soon, too soon, we see!