love poems

“What ails my dearie Love? (the old nurse cried)
This bitter trouble now, my pretty dove,
In me confide.”

“He said my cheeks were thin, that I was pale,
And as I looked I saw his love within
Grow faint, and fail.

“Then when he touched my hand, my heart grew chill;
His touch was cold—I do not understand—
It used to thrill.

“Why should his love have failed that once was bright?
It was for love of him I sighed and paled,
And lost delight.

“I sighed for his return the livelong day,

Kupris, hither
Come, and pour from goblets of gold the nectar
Mixt for love's and pleasure's delight with dainty
Joys of the banquet.

Shall we make love
Indoors
On this night when the moon has begun to shine
Over the rushes
Of Inami Moor?

A maid of Christ entreateth me
That I for her a love-song write
By which most plainly she may see
The way to choose a faithful knight;
One that to her shall loyal be
And guard and keep her by his might.
Never will I deny her plea,
To teach her this be my delight.

Maiden, thou mayest well behold
How this world's love is but a race
Beset with perils manifold,
Fickle and ugly, weak and base.
Those noble knights that once were bold
As breath of wind pass from their place,
Under the mold now lie they cold,

Love he to morrow, who lov'd never;
To morrow, who hath lov'd, persever.
The Spring appears, in which the Earth
Receives a new harmonious Birth;
When all things mutual Love unites;
When Birds perform their nuptial rites;
And fruitful by her watry Lover,
Each grove its tresses doth recover;
Loves Queen to morrow, in the shade
Which by these verdant trees is made,
Their sprouting tops in wreaths shall bind,
And Myrtles into Arbours wind;
To morrow rais'd on a high throne,
Dione shall her Laws make known.

The Goddesse bade the Nymphs remove
Unto the shady Myrtle grove;
The boy goes with the maids, yet none
Will trust, or think love tame is grown,
If they perceive that any where
He Arrows doth about him bear.
Go fearlesse Nymphs, for love hath laid
Aside his Armes, and tame is made.
His weapons by command resign'd,
Naked to go he is enjoyn'd:
Lest he hurt any by his craft,
Either with flame, or bow, or shaft.
But yet take heed young Nymphs, beware
You trust him not, for Cupid's fair,
Lest by his beauty you be harm'd;

Admit , thou darling of mine eyes,
I have some idol lately framed,
That under such a false disguise
Our true loves might the less be famed:
Canst thou, that knowest my heart, suppose
I'll fall from thee, and worship those?

Remember, dear, how loth and slow
I was to cast a look or smile,
Or one love-line to misbestow,
Till thou hadst changed both face and style:
And art thou grown afraid to see
That mask put on thou mad'st for me?

I dare not call those childish fears,
Coming from love, much less from thee;

Oh, why wast thou my love?
And why was I thy lover?
I keep blue skies above:
But thou—dull earth for cover.
Then what had Fate to prove,
Save, oh!—the far remove
Of what for me was once thy love
From what remains thy lover?

Thou know'st the place where purple rocks receive
The deepened silence of the pausing stream;
And myrtles and white olives interweave
Their cool grey shadows with the azure gleam
Of noontide; and pale temple columns cleave
Those waves with shafts of light (as through a dream
Of sorrow, pierced the memories of loved hours—
Cold and fixed thoughts that will not pass away)
All chapleted with wreaths of marble flowers,
Too calm to live,—too lovely to decay.
And hills rise round, pyramidal and vast,

The black-winged gull
of love is flying—
hurl of the waters'
futile might!

Tirelessly
his deft strokes plying
he skims free in the licking
waves' despite—

There is no lying
to his shrill mockery
of their torment