love poetry

I will not tell the secrets of that place.
When Madame Blanche returned to us again
I was kneeling there, while Esther kissed my face
And dried and comforted my tears. O vain
And happy tears! O griefs thrice comforted!
I trembled, but not with fear. If I was dumb,
'Twas not for lack of speech where all was said.
My doubts were ended and my fears o'ercome,
And joy had triumphed. Life has given me much
And pleasure much, and Heaven may yet have store
Of nobler hopes to kindle and to touch,

How shall I tell my fall? The life of man
Is but a tale of tumbles, this way thrown
At his beginning by mere haste of plan
In the first gaping ditch with flowers o'ergrown;
Anon more cautious for his wounded knees,
Yet falling still through much expectancy;
And so to age, the goal of his heart's ease,
Stumbling in blindness on he knows not why.
How shall I tell it? As the poets tell
Who wrap love in a garment of vain light?
Or plainly naked, the poor child of Hell
And laughter that it is and starless night?

A second warning, nor unheeded. Yet
The thought appealed to me as no strange thing,
Pure though I was, that love impure had set
Its seal on that fair woman in her Spring.
Her broken beauty did not mar her grace
In form or spirit. Nay, it rather moved.
It seemed a natural thing for that gay face
It should have known and suffered and been loved.
It kindled in me, too, to view it thus,
A mood of daring which was more than mine,
And made my shamefaced heart leap valorous,
And fired its courage to a zeal divine.

They sent you in to say farewell to me,
No, do not shake your head; I see your eyes
That shine with tears. Sappho, you saw the sun
Just now when you came hither, and again,
When you have left me, all the shimmering
Great meadows will laugh lightly, and the sun
Put round about you warm invisible arms
As might a lover, decking you with light.
I go toward darkness tho' I lie so still.
If I could see the sun, I should look up
And drink the light until my eyes were blind;

The sense of the world is short, -
Long and various the report, -
To love and be beloved;
Men and gods have not outlearned it;
And, how oft soe'er they've turned it,
'Tis not to be improved.

THEY met, and all the world was fair;
Fair, too, were they as any pair
Of birds of paradise;
They met, and never meant to part,
But oh! time chills the warmest heart,
And dims the brightest eyes.

They met, and love betwixt them born,
From morn to dark, from dark to morn.
Walked with them through the land;
O, blithely sped the singing hours,
Till, lured to pluck the star-eyed flowers,
Each loosed the other's hand.

Then love took flight with sudden fright,

Young love has chains of metal rare,
Heavy as gold-yet light as air:
It chanced he caught a heart one day
Which struggled hard, as loth to stay.

Prudence, poor thing, was lingering near-
She whispered in the captive's ear,
'Cease, little flutterer; bear thy chain,
And soon thou shalt be free again!'

No; I assert my right to fly-
The chain shall break, and Love shall die
What! I remain a willing slave?
No-freedom, freedom, or the grave!

Meanwhile Love slumbered by his prize

There lies the heat of summer
On your cheek’s lovely art:
There lies the cold of winter
Within your little heart.
That will change, beloved,
The end not as the start!
Winter on your cheek then,
Summer in your heart.

Enough of thunderous passion
That clouds life's weary way.
Bid now in merrier fashion
The jocund pulses play.
Welcome the airy fancies
That charm and pass away,
The light loves,
The bright loves,
The loves that live a day.

Too rude for mortal bosoms
The storms that rage for aye;
Ask not from frost the blossoms
That deck the laughing May.
Bid welcome all the gay loves
That wither if they stay,
The sweet loves,
The fleet loves,
The loves that live a day.

I'll tell the story, kissing
This white hand for my pains:
No sweeter heart, nor falser
E'er filled such fine, blue veins.

I'll sing a song of true love,
My Lilith dear! to you;
Contraria contrariis
The rule is old and true.

The happiest of all lovers
Was Ernst of Edelsheim;
And why he was the happiest,
I'll tell you in my rhyme.

One summer night he wandered
Within a lonely glade,
And, couched in moss and moonlight,
He found a sleeping maid.