love poems

Fresh as the foam of torrents from the snow,
Dark, soft as footsteps in the woods below,
Complete as sunlight falling from above,
New as young vine-leaves, is our virgin love.

When loue on time and measure makes his ground,
Time that must end though loue can neuer die,
Tis loue betwixt a shadow and a sound,
A loue not in the hart but in the eie,
A loue that ebbes and flowes now vp now downe,
A mornings fauor and an euenings frowne.

Sweete lookes shew loue, yet they are but as beames,
Faire wordes seeme true, yet they are but as wind,
Eies shed their teares yet are but outward streames:
Sighes paint a sadnes in the falsest minde.
Lookes, wordes, teares, sighes, shew loue when loue they leaue,

Govind is my life; the world tastes bitter to me.
I love Rama and Rama alone; let my eyes see no other.
In Miran's palace dwell Hari's saints; Hari dwells far from intrigue with his saints.

A rann I made within my heart
To the rider, to the high king,
A rann I made to my love,
To the king of kings, ancient death.

Brighter to me than light of day
The dark of thy house, though black clay;
Sweeter to me than the music of trumpets
The quiet of thy house and its eternal silence.

I went to Ed Haley's the day it was bright
I met with a woman I loved at first sight.
I asked her some questions about her past life,
She told me she was single, but had been a wife.

In deep conversation I studied her mind,
She had come down to Brushy to wait on the blind;
The labor was hard and the wages was small,
I soon saw she did not like Horse Branch at all.

I dream of this woman, she's stolen my heart;
Sad disappointments has kept us apart.
I'm troubled and worried, I'm tired of this place,

Jesus Christ my Leman sweet,
That diedest on the bitter tree,
With all my might I thee beseech
For thy deep Wounds two and three,
That as firmly may Thy love
In to mine heart fixèd be
As was the spear in to thine Heart
When thou sufferedst death for me.
My Jesus sweet who died on Rood,
For the love of me,—
And boughtest me with Thy Blood,
Have then Mercy upon me;
And should me hinder any thing
From my love of Thee,
Should it be dear it shall be loathed;
So take it away from me.

Come, Autumn, come again with sober bloom
And shed sweet fragrance on love's fair increase
Year upon year, from the faint far perfume
Of bridal rose till this glad day of peace.
Though some who smelt the rose
Are gone, and some of those
We love and wish were here, away,
Yet Autumn, let thy spirit consecrate the day.

When April smiles, the earth's broad bosom feels
The throb of life and sap that wakes her veins,
Delights therein alone; at April's heels
Sees not the following months and all their trains;

Oft the confession of my changeless love
Your close-drawn lattice in the night must hear:
The moon, befriending hearts bereft of cheer,
Knows well my longing as she gleams above:
Your name is cooed to me by that wild dove
Whose haunts I visit when the eve is near:
At morn my madrigals glad-voiced and clear
Fill with their ecstasy the hill and grove.
To you alone my secret reaches never,
Howe'er my heartbeat strives to tell the tale
Unbidden, ardent in a dear endeavor.
Perchance for all time shall its message fail,

Your talk was most in praise of these poor features,
And of my body—not unequalled 'mongst God's creatures.
And even did your courteous fancy find
Some small perfection in a woman's mind.
But of my soul, sir, not a word!
Till your quite reasonable anger stirred
To bring our love to sudden wreck.
'Twas then you stayed my ecstasies
With truth! Which ended in this wise:—
“Woman! Your soul's a stone about your neck.”

Maybe our love had happier consummation
Had this part known more quick consideration!

Verily the young would love me
For what I should say;
For I sing in graceful accents,
I can sweetly talk.