love poetry

The Queen of Beauty weeps amain
To hear her harmless Dove complain
That yonder Rose, so fondly prest,
Has wounded her confiding breast;
That bosom which in love she sought,
With all inviting odours fraught,
As soft and snowy as her own,
Such cruel treachery has shown,
Betrayed her to the ambushed thorn,
Her bosom pierced, her vesture torn!
Then thus the Queen of Flow'rs upbraids
The culprit Rose: " Go seek the shades! —
Henceforth that tell-tale crimson stain,
Ne'er to be cleansed by dew or rain,

The Rose of Love my Henry sends,
Seems to my heart bright hues to wear,
And balmy fragrance it dispends
That dissipates each brooding care.

How can it sweetest odours shed —
How can it bloom so fresh and fair —
How can its leaflets gaily spread,
While we are still a severed pair? —

Fold up thy leaves, thou bonny Rose,
And hide thee from the rifling air!
Those precious odours fast inclose,
Nor let rough blasts thy vesture tear!

Planted in Hymen's happy soil,
And tended by a blessed pair,

When this you see
May those dear eyes
Be clear and free
As Summer skies!

When this you read
May that kind heart
No solace need,
Feel no sad smart!

When this you close,
Believe it penned
By one who glows,
Best, dearest friend,
With love for you!
In haste, Adieu!

O, say not, my love, with that mortified air,
That your spring-time of pleasure is flown,
Nor bid me to maids that are younger repair
For those raptures that still are thine own.

Though April his temples may wreathe with the vine,
Its tendrils in infancy curled,
'T is the ardor of August matures us the wine
Whose life-blood enlivens the world.

Though thy form that was fashioned as light as a fay's
Has assumed a proportion more round,
And thy glance that was bright as a falcon's at gaze

How hard the shower falls
Upon the lovely pinks!

Oh, beautiful peonies! — for love of which
Even Kusunoki took off his armour.

When the world fell to pieces, and we stood
Stripped to disaster in the surge and reel
Of crashing nations, still too numbed to feel,
Too stunned to think, we knew one thing held good
Above the strife, and though all else should fail
That made life lovely underneath the sun,
Love, that from the beginning made us one,
Against annihilation should prevail.

And when on the shivering edge of the unknown
Unfathomed darkness each must stand alone,
With eyes that look their last upon the light,

And think'st thou that Woman will smile upon those,
Whom Adversity marks for her own?
Ah, no! — hand in hand with dame Fortune she goes,
On the affluent only her love she bestows,
And thinks that the fount from which happiness flows,
Is splendor and riches alone.

I hop'd that my Emily's love would not fade,
Though fortune and friends were all flown;
Foolish thought! — with my hopes her feign'd passion decay'd,
And deserted and spurn'd by the treacherous maid,
Adversity's storm I am doom'd to pervade,

When I first loved, I loved a wraith,
Yet in my youth I still have faith,
For though dark mills were thundering 'round
I met my love on Roman ground.
Through her I learned to know the peace
Of balance, journeying through Greece,
Then stars above Arabia's dearth
Brought unity to my vexed earth,
And while in England, hand in hand,
I learned to love the love of land,
And everything was in her kiss
My starving city did not miss.

For she was lovely, thin and lithe,
And supple as a willow withe,

I love the world, as does any dancer,
with the tips of my toes. I love the world
more than I love my wife, for it contains
more crannies and crevasses, it tenders
more textures to my twenty digits' touch.
Lush grass underfoot after April rain,
a pile of petals fallen from a rose,
sun-seared sidewalk in summer, sand, fresh-turned
garden dirt, and, yes, her hummocked ankle
rubbed by the ball of my foot as she sleeps.