love poetry

WITH THANKS TO G. K. CHESTERTON

Their hearts are bowed with sorrow,
They love to wail and croon;
They shed big tears when they sigh, " Machree, "
Floods when they sob, " Aroon! "

For the Young Gaels of Ireland
Are the lads that drive me mad;
For half their words need foot-notes,
And half their rhymes are bad.

TUCSON

Aloof as aged kings,
Wearing like them the purple,
The mountains ring the mesa
Crowned with a dusky light;
Many a time I watched
That coming-on of darkness
Till stars burned through the heavens
Intolerably bright.

It was not long I lived there
But I became a woman
Under those vehement stars,
For it was there I heard
For the first time my spirit
Forging an iron rule for me,
As though with slow cold hammers
Beating out word by word:

Stand firm, gray Rock!
Tough-weathered Beams, hold fast!
Stanch Walls, proud Roof,
Repel the warring Blast!
Glow warm, deep Hearth,
Against the Winter's Chill;
Clear Flame of Love,
Burn brighter, warmer still!

Commute with me, Love, and be merry;
How vain in the City to dwell
When apple-trees blow in Dobbs' Ferry
And lilacs adorn New Rochelle!
White Plains is the Garden of Allah
And Pelham's the Pearl of the Sea;
There's bliss in the name of Valhalla —
Oh, fly to the Suburbs with me!

Then won't you commute on my family ticket?
To Westchester County we'll flee.
Delightful Westchester,

My loved one is far away.
Alone, by the railing, I look around aimlessly
Many times, depressed by a bright, full moon,
My body aches and twists with ninefold grief and pain.
A heart left hanging.
A deep love that cannot be severed.
Just how can we be reunited and share companionship again?
Spare me from sleeping with only a cold quilt and pillow.

Pan loved his neighbor Echo; Echo loved
A gamesome Satyr; he, by her unmoved,
Loved only Lyde; thus through Echo, Pan,
Lyde, and Satyr, Love his circle ran.
Thus all, while their true lovers' hearts they grieved,
Were scorned in turn, and what they gave received.
O all Love's scorners, learn this lesson true;
Be kind to Love, that he be kind to you.

My breast is press'd to thine, Alice,
My arm is round thee twined;
Thy breath dwells on my lip, Alice,
Like clover-scented wind:
Love glisten's in thy sunny e'e,
And blushes on thy brow;
Earth's heaven is here to thee and me,
For we are happy now!

Thy cheek is warm and saft, Alice,
As the summer laverock's breast;
And peace sleeps in thy soul, Alice,
Like the laverock on its nest!
Sweet lay thy heart aboon my heart,
Fot it is a' thine ain;
That morning love it gi'es to thee,

Without the beloved's face, the rose — is not pleasant.
Without wine, spring — is not pleasant.

The border of the sward and the air of the garden
Without the (beloved of) tulip cheek — is not pleasant.

With the beloved, sugar of lip, rose of body,
(To be) without kiss and embrace — is not pleasant.

The dancing of the cypress, and the rapture of the rose,
Without the song of the hazar — is not pleasant.

Every picture that reason's hand depicteth,
Save the picture of the (living beauteous) idol — is not pleasant.

(When) the rose is in the bosom,
wine in the hand,
And the beloved to my desire, —
on such a day, the world's Sultan is my slave.

Say, into this assembly bring ye no candle for to-night.
In our assembly the moon of the Friend's face is full.

In our order (of profligates)
the wine-cup is lawful;
But O Cypress, rose of body!
without thy face (presence), unlawful.

In our assembly (of lovers),
mix not its (perfume);
For our soul every moment receiveth perfume

From the garden of union with thee,
(even) the garden of Rizvan (Paradise) gain lustre of joy;
From the torment of separation from thee,
(even) hell's flame hath torment.

In the beauty of thy cheek and stature,
shelter have taken Paradise and the tuba (tree).
For them, it (the shelter) is good;
and a good place of returning (from this world).

All night (even) as my eye (seeth,
so) the stream of Paradise
Seeth in sleep
the image of thy intoxicated eye (of mercy).

In every season,