love poems

My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a wi lilye flower.
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see
Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man by middle day,
He spied his sport and went away,
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew by knight.

He slew my knight to me sae dear.
He slew my knight and poind his gear.
My servants all for life did flee
And left me in extremitie.

I sew'd his sheet, making my mane,
I watched the corpse myself alane,

Come home to me, are you come home to me,
O heart of mine—but in what dolorous guise!
And the great hour, O 'twas otherwise
Love had imagined it in days to be!
These pleading hands—these lips—How dreadfully,
At what strange lips and in what alien eyes
Have you sought mine? Beneath what darkening skies
Come home to me at last, come home to me?

I would not know the reason: here upon
This breast of sorrows loose your aching breast;
Tell me again and yet again, and say
Still the eternal word, still babble on

There's a wideness in God's mercy,
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in his justice,
Which is more than liberty.

For the love of God is broader
Than the measures of man's mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.

If our love were but more simple,
We should take him at his word,
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.

God bless the master of this house,
Likewise the mistress too:
And all the little children
That round the table go.

Love and joy come to you,
And to your wassail too,
And God bless you and send you
A happy New Year.

Love which is here a care,
That wit and will doth mar,
Uncertain truce, and a most certain war;
A shrill tempestuous wind,
Which doth disturb the mind,
And, like wild waves, all our designs commove;
Among those sprites above
Which see their Maker's face,
It a contentment is, a quiet peace,
A pleasure void of grief, a constant rest,
Eternal joy which nothing can molest.

They met in His name who to each loving heart
The life-giving word had once spoken;
The flow of whose peace in full many a soul
For long years had continued unbroken.

They met in His name, to renew every vow
Of love, and of earnest devotion
To God and his cause, till the hearts of all men
Are his own, on the land and the ocean.

They met; and the tide of their faith rose high,
As the songs of Zion sounded,
And ebbed no more through that evening hour,
For their love to God abounded.

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
Can wisdom be put in a silver rod,
Or love in a golden bowl?

All the whole world is living without war,
And yet I cannot find out any peace.
O God! that this should be!
O God! what does the earth sustain me for?
My life seems made for other lives' ill-ease:
All men look strange to me;
Nor are the wood-flowers now
As once, when up above
The happy birds in love
Made such sweet verses, going from bough to bough.

And if I come where other gentleman
Bear arms, or say of love some joyful thing—
Then is my grief most sore,
And all my soul turns round upon me then:

We'll cover Love with roses,
And sweet sleep he shall take.
None but a fool supposes
Love always keeps awake.
I've known loves without number.
True loves were they, and tried;
And just for want of slumber
They pined away and died.

Our love was bright and cheerful
A little while agone;
Now he is pale and tearful,
And—yes, I've seen him yawn.
So tired is he of kisses
That he can only weep;
The one dear thing he misses
And longs for now is sleep.

We could not let him leave us

Back men shall look, considering all my song:
As we now look towards Helen, or the face
Of that eternal Beatrice whose grace
Crowned the Italian bard, and made him strong.
Back men shall glance, throughout the ages long;
And women's hearts shall struggle hard to trace
Those perfect woman's features that I place
Herein for ever,—safe from time and wrong.

Our early love-flowers are eternal things,
Though on the earth so soon they passed away
With tremulous sighing in their snowy wings,