love poems

Once a rose ever a rose, we say,
One we loved and who loved us
Remains beloved though gone from day;
To human hearts it must be thus,
The past is sweetly laid away.

Sere and sealed for a day and year,
Smell them, dear Christina, pray;
So nature treats its children dear,
So memory deals with yesterday,
The past is sweetly laid away.

If only I could creep
into each corner
of the heart of the one
who says she loves me
and keep watch.

It is our blessing that her lot was fair—
The precious birthright of the dew and air,
The green and shade of woods, the song of birds,
And dreams too bright for words—
All that makes moonlight for the innocent heart,
And love, that, in its bud, is still its crowning part.

The sadness of the spring-time in the shade
Of dusk—the shadows of the night array'd,
By stars in the great forests, as they look,
Glistening, as from a brook;
And stillness in the gloom, that seems a sound,

When o'er my dark and wayward soul
The clouds of nameless Sorrow roll;
When Hope no more her wreath will twine
And Memory sits at Sorrow's shrine;
Nor aught to joy my soul can move
I muse upon a Sister's Love.

When tired with study's graver toil
I pant for sweet Affection's smile,
And rich with restless hopes of fame,
Would half forgo the panting aim
I drop the book,—and thought will rove,
To greet a Sister's priceless Love.

When all the world seems cold and stern,
And bids the bosom vainly yearn;

Jesus never will forget me,
When I'm young, or when I'm old.
With His precious blood He bought me;
So, you see, to Him I'm sold.

He could not forget His loved ones,
Who to Him are very dear;
Resting in His loving bosom
I have not a single fear.

In His hands my name is written,
In His heart He thinks of me;
And He'll soon come back to take me
Where with Him I'll always be.

He, Himself, appears as bail
when I am taken before the court,
and He teaches me to be obedient
and to live in His light.
Art merely puffs up, love constructs,
all comes to naught unless God's Bride
rules in a royal way. O Love! O love!
Lead us with thee by thy hand,
by thy bands of love, for false
love misguides! Amen!
Alexander Mack.

I WOULD, indeed, that Heaven had made me meek,
Content to hold and fill a second place,
Take lesser love as undeservèd grace,
And bow my thankful head when one should speak
Me gently, touch with careless hand my cheek,
Or bend sometimes and kiss my unpraised face,
Since she, forsooth, is in her far-off place
For whom his highest homage seemed too weak.

But I was made with passionate, strong soul,
And what I would, I would have wholly mine;
And if I bow my head to Love's control,
And to his keeping all myself consign,

Not the unshriven wrong or the unpaid debt
Here in the crumbling years is my worst regret—
Rather the memory of one joy wasted:
Of a stupid, youthful righteousness that reckoned
Too bloodlessly, and once, when wild love beckoned,
Fled, leaving the perilous sweet sin untasted.

There's a heaven on earth—
A heaven that's mine—
In the gift of her heart
Whose love is divine.

There's a light in her eye,
That wins without art;
And there's grace in her step,
And joy in her heart.

When the heart blends with heart,
Confiding and true,
Then on earth there's a heaven,
With joys ever new.

While stars of Christmas shine,
Lighting the skies,
Let only loving looks,
Beam from our eyes.

While bells of Christmas ring,
Joyous and clear,
Speak only happy words,
All love and cheer.

Give only loving gifts,
And in love take;
Gladden the poor and sad
For love's dear sake.