love poems

High in the pine-tree
The little Turtle-dove
Made a little nursery,
To please her little love.
“Coo,” said the Turtle-dove,
“Coo,” said she;
In the long shady branches
Of the dark pine-tree.

No words for the Way
no thought for afterward
not caring what they'll say
here loving, loved
you look on me, I look on you.

But she who Love long since had swallowed down,
Melts with hid fire; her wound doth inward weep:
The man's much worth, his nation's much renown
Runs in her mind: his looks and words are deep
Fixt in her breast: care weans her eyes from sleep.
The Morn with Phoebus' lamp the earth survey'd
And drew Heav'n's veil through which moist stars did creep,
When thus to her dear sister, sick, she said,
Anna, what frightful dreams my wavering soul invade!

Who is this man that visits our abodes?

The maiden is in Love's garden,
She has lingered all the week;
Her father and her lover
Far and wide they seek.

“Ask her of yonder shepherd,
Haply he may have seen.”
“Shepherd, have you seen passing
A maiden like a queen?”

“What was the maiden's clothing,
Silk, or woolen brown?”
“She wore a rosy kerchief,
And a white satin gown.”

“She is down there in the valley,
Beside the fountain's brim,
She holds a bird within her hands,
And tells her griefs to him.”

O the birds of bonnie Scotland,
I love them one and all—
The eagle soaring high in pride,
The wren so blithe and small.
I love the cushat in the wood,
The heron by the stream,
The lark that sings the stars asleep,
The merle that wakes their beam.

O the birds of dear old Scotland,
I love them every one—
The owl that leaves the tower by night,
The swallow in the sun.
I love the raven on the rock,
The sea-bird on the shore,
The merry chaffinch in the wood,
And the curlew on the moor.

I love thee, I love thee, and life will depart
Ere thy mother forgets thee, sweet child of her heart;
Yea, death's shadows only my memory can dim,
For thou'rt dearer than life to me—Mary Achin.

I love thee, I love thee, and six years hath now fled
Since first on my bosom I pillow'd thy head;
Since I first did behold thee in sorrow and sin,
Thou sweet offspring of false love—my Mary Achin.

I love thee, I love thee, and twelve months hath now past,
My sweet child, since I gazed on thy fairy form last;

Lord, 'tis a heav'n of joy and love
To feel thy gracious presence here!
And 'twill be heav'n complete above,
When we thy perfect likeness bear,
And see thy truth all glorious shine,
Replete with rays of love divine.

All honour to thy name alone,
And thanks, eternal thanks be giv'n,
For thou hast brought sweet mercy down,
And rais'd our hearts and hopes to heaven
And thou alone can'st keep our feet,
Till safe around thy throne we meet.

Still let thy grace sufficient prove,
To guide us on in wisdom's ways;

The fragrant pines are green, love,
The pines are fair and tall;
Dear is the Alpine scene, love,
Peak, flower, and waterfall;
But my heart's tendrils lean, love,
To humbler pines at home,
For there the feet have been, love,
That never learned to roam.
One day about the wood, dear,
Thy steps began to go,
And all my stony mood, dear,
Was moved to happy flow;
But when they ceased from pleasure
Upon the woodland floor,
Silence in deeper measure
Than e'er was known before
Returned for evermore, dear,

The star of love now shines above,
Cool zephyrs crisp the sea;
Among the leaves the wind-harp weaves
Its serenade for thee.
The star, the breeze, the wave, the trees,
Their minstrelsy unite,
But all are drear till thou appear
To decorate the night.

The light of noon streams from the moon,
Though with a milder ray;
O'er hill and grove, like woman's love,
It cheers us on our way.
Thus all that's bright—the moon, the night,
The heavens, the earth, the sea,
Exert their powers to bless the hours

The very atoms of the air
Seem warmed and stirring everywhere;
The sky with golden light suffused:
The earth grown bright with dawn unused;
I hear in waves of carolings
The sound of kisses, sweep of wings;
I close mine eyes,—what happens there?—
—The passing-by of Love the fair!—