love poems

In this world,
so many moments of pain—
journeying through
plains of bamboo grass,
I met my loved one in a dream

Tempest and terror below; but Christ the Almighty above.
Tho' the depth of the deep overflow, tho' fire run along on the ground,
Tho' all billows and flames make a noise,—and where is an Ark for the dove?—
Tho' sorrows rejoice against joys, and death and destruction abound:
Yet Jesus abolisheth death, and Jesus Who loves us we love;
His dead are renewed with a breath, His lost are the sought and the found.
Thy wanderers call and recall, Thy dead men lift out of the ground;
O Jesus, Who lovest us all, stoop low from Thy Glory above:

O love, if life should end to-night,
How short our life would seem!
One little flash of summer light;
One brief and passionate dream;
One glimpse of roses on the wall,
Or blue-bells in the lane,
Then, love, the end, the end of all—
Aye, buds might swell, and leaves might fall,
But not for us again!

The stream we used to watch and love
Would ever onward flow;
From the dark pines the grey wood-dove
Would call—we should not know.
Ah! not for us the pines would wave,
For us no stream would run;

I think of thee
As night's soft, filmy veil is drawn aside
And sunbeams ope day's crimson portals wide;
In fancy thy fair form is by my side,
Thy smile is beaming bright, clear as the light,
Thy face is ever near at early morn.

I think of thee
When Sol has bathed the earth with golden rays,
Winning from feather'd choirs their songs of praise;
Oh, light is labour,—swiftly pass the days;
With me thou dost abide, tho' seas divide;
Thinking of thee the hours glide smoothly on.

I think of thee

It was the lovely moon—she lifted
Slowly her white brow among
Bronze cloud-waves that ebbed and drifted
Faintly, faintlier afar.
Calm she looked, yet pale with wonder,
Sweet in unwonted thoughtfulness,
Watching the earth that dwindled under
Faintly, faintlier afar.
It was the lovely moon that lovelike
Hovered over the wandering, tired
Earth, her bosom gray and dovelike,
Hovering beautiful as a dove. . . .
The lovely moon:—her soft light falling
Lightly on roof and poplar and pine—
Tree to tree whispering and calling,

H ESPER , dear Hesper, golden lovely light,
Of Venus,—presence in the dark blue night,—
Only less lovely than the moon as far
As thou art bright to every other star;
Hail, loved one; and as she begins to-day
To go down early, hold me from above
Thy light, and let me be supplied by thee:—
I come not forth to steal or to way-lay;
I go to sup with one that waits for me;—
I love; and lovers should be helped with love.

There is a little naked child at the door,
His name is Beauty, and he cries,
“Behold, I am born, put me where I can live.”
The old World comes to the door,
And thrusting out a lip, says only this,
“It is true that you are born, but how were you conceived?”

There is an owl upon an elder-tree,
Who opening an eye, says only this.
“That is a lovely child!”
The old World said again,
“Yes! but how was he conceived?”

There is a gust of free wind,
And high cloud voices call.
“What can you ask of Love but conception?

a shooting star—
in love with someone, not knowing
where it will lead me

Can you forego me? Treat me like a thing
More trivial than a flower, and less dear?
Think for a while. Can you forego the spring,
Forfeit the one mad weather of the year?
I press between you and each yesterday;
Smelling of wind, of white brier in the dew,
From the grave's edge, and from the shrill, trodden way,
I that am ghost, reach to the ghost in you.
Foregoing spring, you thus can forego me,
And bare of me, of spring you shall go bare.
Leave me or choose me. Yet it matters not.
I shall possess you as the root the tree;

In vain a thousand slaves have try'd
To overcome Clarinda's pride;
Pity pleading,
Love persuading,
When her icy heart is thaw'd
Honour chides, and straight she 's aw'd.

Foolish creature! follow Nature,
Waste not thus your prime;
Youth 's a treasure,
Love 's a pleasure,
Both destroy'd by Time.