love poems

I cry your mercy--pity--love!--aye, love!--
Merciful love that tantalizes not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmasked, and being seen--without a blot!

O! let me have thee whole, --all--all--be mine!
That shape, the fairness, that sweet minor zest
Of love, your kiss,--those hands, those eyes divine,
That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,--
Yourself--your soul--in pity give me all,
Withhold no atom's atom or I die,
Or living on perhaps, your wretched thrall,
Forget, in the midst of idle misery,

Was my love so slight a thing,
Only a pebble at your feet,
Or a faded rose we fling
To the river or the street?

Nought but peace I wish you, though
For my wearier heart I pray
You may some day learn to know
What it was you cast away!

ON the axis of Love, wheels the Universe round,
In rotation continued, and thrifty;
While some tender minds at fifteen feel the wound,
And some hold it out till they're fifty.

O ye Gods, then defend me from fifty, in love,
When that language has left the bright eye,
Which speaks to the soul, tho' our tongues never move,
And shall conquer, when accent must die.

Love was ever the touchstone to try the sine mind,
Sterling Virtue 'twill never debase;
No alloy can we know, from a passion refin'd,

Love, I adore the contours of thy shape,
Thine exquisite breasts and arms adorable;
The wonders of thine heavenly throat compel
Such fire of love as even my dreams escape:
I love thee as the sea-foam loves the cape,
Or as the shore the sea's enchanting spell:
In sweets the blossoms of thy mouth excel
The tenderest bloom of peach or purple grape.

I love thee, sweet! Kiss me again, again!
Thy kisses soothe me, as tired earth the rain;
Between thine arms I find mine only bliss;
Ah let me in thy bosom still enjoy

This is no time for a child to be born,
With the earth betrayed by war & hate
And a comet slashing the sky to warn
That time runs out & the sun burns late.

That was no time for a child to be born,
In a land in the crushing grip of Rome;
Honor & truth were trampled to scorn—
Yet here did the Savior make His home.

When is the time for love to be born?
The inn is full on the planet earth,
And by a comet the sky is torn—
Yet Love still takes the risk of birth.

Love, that doth reign and live within my thought,
And build his seat within my captive breast,
Clad in the arms wherein with me he fought,
Oft in my face he doth his banner rest.
But she that taught me love, and suffer pain,
My doubtful hope and eke my hot desire
With shamefast look to shadow and refrain,
Her smiling grace converteth straight to ire.
And coward Love then to the heart apace
Taketh his flight, where he doth lurk and plain
His purpose lost, and dare not show his face.
For my lord's guilt thus faultless bide I pain.

Cast away care, he that loves sorrow
Lengthens not a day, nor can buy to-morrow:
Money is trash; and he that will spend it,
Let him drink merrily, Fortune will send it.
Merrily, merrily, merrily, oh, ho!
Play it off stiffly, we may not part so.

Wine is a charm, it heats the blood too,
Cowards it will arm, if the wine be good too;
Quickens the wit, and makes the back able,
Scorns to submit to the watch or constable.
Merrily, &c.

Pots fly about, give us more liquor,

I knew the story of a broken heart;
A sad tale 'twas, and such an one as some,
Of austere brow and cold mysterious eye,
Might scarcely deign to hear, or hearing it,
Would gravely smile, and then, with solemn air,
Shaking the doubtful head, turn back to dust.
But haply some may learn from it that sadness,
By which the heart grows better; for the tear
Which falls for woe doth ever purify
The soul that sends it, and returns again
A flood of peace, sweet as a seraph's prayer.

They loved, or thought they loved, for cunningly

Always laughin' she was—havin' her joke and singin'—
Her heart the like of a fountain where joy was dancin' and springin',
And ourselves by the fire would say, “She's stretchin' her hand to sorrow—
God save the child from the trouble, the trouble that comes tomorrow!”

Always happy she was—and happy it was Death found her
In the place that she loved the best, with the arms of love around her.
And ours is the answered prayer who were askin' against her sorrow.
God saved the child from the trouble, the trouble that comes tomorrow!

They lie who say that love must be
A sickness and a misery;
He that ne'er loved woman knows
Never anything but woes.

I too love a woman; yet
My clear eyes are never wet;
Death has claimed me for his own,
Yet I live by love alone.

Clad in flesh and blood I move,
Though a swan-white maid I love;
Though I love, I eat and sleep,
Music's service still I keep.

I'm no reed in water swaying,
My free thought goes lightly playing;
I'm no lover chill through all
The piled cloaks of Donegal.