love poetry

I.

How beautiful, how beautiful you streamed upon my sight,
In glory and in grandeur, as a gorgeous sunset-light!
How softly, soul-subduing, fell your words upon mine ear,
Like low aerial music when some augel hovers near!
What tremulous, faint ecstacy to clasp your hand in mine,
Till the darkness fell upon me of a glory too divine!
The air around grew languid with our intermingled breath,
And in your beauty's shadow I sank motionless as death.
I saw you not, I heard not, for a mist was on my brain —

Thou hast love within thine eyes,
Though they be as dark as night;
And a pity (shewn by sighs)
Heaveth in thy bosom white;
What is all the azure light
Which the northern beauties shew,
If disdain be sharp and bright,
Where the tender love should glow;

Do I love thee? — Lady, no!
I was born for other skies;
Where the palmy branches grow,
And the unclouded mornings rise:

I love your throat, so fragrant, fair,
The little pulses beating there;
Your eye-brows' shy and questioning air;
I love your shadowed hair.

I love your flame-touched ivory skin;
Your little fingers frail and thin;
Your dimple creeping out and in;
I love your pointed chin

I love the way you move, you rise;
Your fluttering gestures, just-caught cries;
I am not sane, I am not wise,
God! how I love your eyes!

The Pleiads now no more are seen,
Nor shines the silver Moon serene,
In dark and dismal Clouds o'ercast;
The love appointed Hour is past:
Midnight usurps her sable Throne,
And yet, alas! I lie alone.

The Moon has veil'd her Silver Light,
The Pleiades have left the Sky;
It's now the silent Noon of Night,
The Love-sworn Hour is past; yet I
Alone, deserted, pining lie!

MAN , man loves his steed,
For its blood or its breed,
For its odour the rose, for its honey the bee;
His own haughty beauty
From pride or from duty;
But I love my love, because — he loves me .

Oh, my love has an eye,
Like a star in the sky,
And breath like the sweets from the hawthorn tree;
And his heart is a treasure,
Whose worth is past measure;
And yet he hath given all — all to me!

It crowns me with light,

I.

Y E earthly vanities depart,
For ever hence remove;
Jesus alone deserves my heart,
And every thought of love.

II.

His heart, where love and pity dwelt
In all their softest forms,
Sustain'd the heavy load of guilt,
For lost rebellious worms;

III.

His heart, whence love abundant flow'd
To wash the stains of sin,
In precious streams of vital blood —

Love the poet, pretty one!
He unfoldeth knowledge fair;
Lessons of the earth and sun,
And of azure air.

He can teach thee how to reap
Music from the golden lyre:
He can shew thee how to steep
All thy thoughts in fire.

Heed not, though at times he seem
Dark and still, and cold as clay:
He is shadowed by his Dream!
But 'twill pass away.

Dost thou love wandering? Whither would'st thou go?
Dream'st thou, sweet daughter, of a land more
Dost thou not love these aye-blue streams that flow?
These spicy forests? and this golden air? She .

O, yes, I love the woods, and streams, so gay:
And, more than all, O father, I love thee;
Yet would I fain be wandering — far away,
Where such things never were, nor e'er shall be. He .

Speak, mine own daughter with the sunbright locks!

Give me but thy heart, though cold;
I ask no more!
Give to others gems and gold;
But leave me poor.
Give to whom thou wilt thy smiles;
Cast o'er others all thy wiles;
But let thy tears flow fast and free,
For me , — with me!

Giv'st thou but one look, sweet heart?
A word, — no more?
It is Music's sweetest part.
When lips run o'er!
'Tis a part I fain would learn,
So, pr'ythee, here thy lessons turn,