love poems

Who is the maiden
Who is gathering flowers
And is not love-laden?
But she now would gather
A rose, the fair maiden,
And he of the garden
Besought for the favour,
If she is not love-laden.

Had the gods loved me I had lain
Where darnel is, and thorn,
And the wild night-bird's nightlong strain
Trembles in boughs forlorn.

Nay, but they loved me not; and I
Must needs a stranger be,
Whose every exiled day gone by
Aches with their memory.

This yearning heart (Love! witness what I say)
Enshrines thy form as purely as it may,
Round which, as to some spirit uttering bliss,
My thoughts all stand ministrant night and day
Like saintly Priests, that dare not think amiss.

O how shall I, unskilfu', try
The Poet's occupation?
The tunefu' Powers, in happy hours,
That whisper, inspiration,

Even they maun dare an effort mair
Than aught they ever gave us,
Or they rehearse in equal verse
The charms o' lovely Davies.—

Each eye it chears when she appears,
Like Phebus in the morning,
When past the shower, and every flower
The garden is adorning:
As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore,
When winter-bound the wave is;
Sae droops our heart when we maun part

A prized memorial this slight work may prove
As bought in charity and given in Love.

Thrice happie Roses, so much grac't, to have
Within the Bosome of my Love your grave.
Die when ye will, your sepulchre is knowne,
Your Grave her Bosome is, the Lawne the Stone.

“T ELL me, kind Seer, I pray thee,
“So may the stars obey thee,
“So may each airy
“Moon-elf and fairy
“Nightly their homage pay thee!
“Say, by what spell, above, below,
“In stars that wink or flowers that blow,
“I may discover,
“Ere night is over,
“Whether my love loves me, or no,
“Whether my love loves me.”

“Maiden, the dark tree nigh thee
“Hath charms no gold could buy thee;
“Its stem enchanted,
“By moon-elves planted,
“Will all thou seek'st supply thee.
“Climb to yon boughs that highest grow,

Would that I might this lovely scene
Enjoy for evermore;—
The fishing-boats with busy crews
Who tow upon the shore
Or labour at the oar.

At first I prayed for Light:—
Could I but see the way,
How gladly, swiftly would I walk
To everlasting day!

And next I prayed for Strength:—
That I might tread the road
With firm unfaltering feet, and win
The heaven's serene abode.

And then I asked for Faith:—
Could I but trust my God,
I'd live enfolded in his peace,
Though foes were all abroad.

But now I pray for Love;
Deep love to God and man;
A living love that will not fail,
However dark his plan;—

She loved him—but she heeded not—
Her heart had only room for pride:
All other feelings were forgot,
When she became another's bride.
As from a dream she then awoke,
To realize her lonely state,
And own it was the vow she broke
That made her drear and desolate!

She loved him—but the sland'rer came,
With words of hate that all believed;
A stain thus rested on his name—
But he was wronged and she deceived;
Ah! rash the act that gave her hand,
That drove her lover from her side—