love poems

Whatever I said and whatever you said,
I love you.
The word and the moment forever have fled;
I love you.
The breezes may ruffle the stream in its flow,
But tranquil and clear are the waters below;
And under all tumult you feel and you know
I love you.

Whatever you did and whatever I did,
I love you.
Whatever is open, whatever is hid,
I love you.
The strength of the oak makes the tempest a mock,
The anchor holds firm in the hurricane's shock;
Our love is the anchor, the oak and the rock.
I love you.

For love of lovely words, and for the sake
Of those, my kinsmen and my countrymen,
Who early and late in the windy ocean toiled
To plant a star for seamen, where was then
The surfy haunt of seals and cormorants:
I, on the lintel of this cot, inscribe
The name of a strong tower.

A thousand housetops under the dome
And every house is one man's home,
With love and quarrel and truth and sin.
I should find if I walked therein
Under the eaves of every house
Secrets, laughter and sullen brows,
And bitter battles and comrades kind
And the love of a woman I should find
[Every anger] and hope there comes,
In any home of a thousand homes.

And strangest yet, find them in the press
Who say that the world is emptiness.

I LOVED you once, while you loved me;
Altho' you flirted now and then,
It only was with two or three,
But now you more than flirt with ten.

The red rose hath its splendour,—
The lily its white gleam,
And tender
It floats above the stream.

The sea hath sun to lighten,—
The lover hath his maid
To heighten
Love-pleasure long-delayed.

The green leaves interlacing
Have the wind's subtle breath
Embracing:—
The poet hath but death.

Love built a chamber in my heart,
A daintier ne'er was seen;
'Twas filled with books and gems of art
And all that makes a lover's part
True homage to his queen.

The ceiling was of silver bright
That showed the floor below;
The walls were hung with silk so white
That e'en the mirror was to sight
A slope of driven snow.

Then Love threw open wide the door,
And sang, as in a dream,
A song as sweet as bird can pour
Above the sunlight-marbled floor
Of some clear forest stream.

Love, grant me kisses beyond counting,
As the hairs upon my head;
A thousand and a hundred shed,
A thousand more be their amounting,
And then add thousands more again,
So that none shall know the number,
And no record shall encumber
With the list of where and when.

SWEET power of Poesy! I love thee well,
And I will pass with Thee this Summer's day;
Up the rude hill, or down the sloping dell,
Or whether thro' the Woods I wind my way,
I'll sit me down and of thy pleasings tell,
Because, sweet Poesy, in sooth I love Thee well.

My darling has a merry eye,
And voice like silver bells:
How shall I win her, prithee, say,—
By what magic spells?

If I frown, she shakes her head;
If I weep, she smiles:
Time would fail me to recount
All her wilful wiles.

She flouts me so,—she stings me so,—
Yet will not let me stir,—
In vain I try to pass her by,
My little chestnut bur.

When I yield to every whim,
She straight begins to pout.
Teach me how to read my love,
How to find her out!

For flowers she gives me thistle-blooms,—

If you tenderly love me,
Gird your loins and wade across the Zhen;
But if you do not love me—
There are plenty of other men,
Of madcaps maddest, oh!

If you tenderly love me,
Gird your loins and wade across the Wei;
But if you do not love me—
There are plenty of other knights,
Of madcaps maddest, oh!