love poetry

Advise your Friend, grave Man of Art!
I find a strange unusual Smart:
'Tis here — fierce Symptoms at my Heart.
Discover .

'Tis Pleasure, Pain, a mixt Degree —
My Pulse examine, here's your Fee.
What think you can my Sickness be?
A Lover .

A Lover! 'tis my Case, too sure!
O ease me strait, I'll not endure;
Prescribe, I'll follow close the Cure.

Come hearken good friends to this story so true
Of a lord of high degree;
Concerning the love of this bonny young prince,
The King of his own countree.

His true love so fair from a far distant shore,
No lands and no gold had she;
But he swore by the seal of the ring on his hand
That faithful he'd ever be.

His brothers were wrath, and his mother she wept,
Saying, " Son, take warning from me!
The one that you love is of humble birth
And a Queen she could never be. "

A pretty fair miss all in the garden,
A journeyole soldier passing by.
He did stop and kindly address her
By saying, " Kind miss, will you marry me? "

" No, kind sir, a man of honor,
A man of honor you may be.
Would you impose upon a lady
Whose bride to you is not to be? "

" I have a sweetheart cross the ocean,
He has been gone for seven long year,
And if he's dead, I hope he is happy,
Or in some battle being slain.

" And if he is to some fair girl married,

She alone knew, of victors first and best,
To fold the vanquished to her pardoning breast:
To gather 'neath her wings, in one great brood,
The tribes of Man, by might, then love, subdued,
Mother, not Queen, calling those sons by birth
Whom she had conquered — linking ends of Earth.

If I create wealth beyond the dream of past ages and increase not love, my heat is the flush of fever and my success will deal death.
Though I have foresight to locate the fountains of riches, and power to pre-empt them, and skill to tap them, and have no loving vision for humanity, I am blind.
Though I give of my profits to the poor and make princely endowments for those who toil for me, if I have no human fellowship of love with them, my life is barren and doomed.

Come, love, help me move all the mirrors out of my workshop,
All the sore spots out of my heart!
You only can give me what I need;
A steel girder faith to build on,
The feel of tomorrow in my land.
Andante of a happy city's hundred thousand feet,
Keeping step in a grand procession,
Telling the world they walk in peace and freedom,
Broadcasting a forever and ever armistice day.

Friend, if the mute and shrouded dead
Are touched at all by tears,
By love long fled and friendship sped
And the unreturning years,

O then, to her that early died,
O doubt not, bridegroom, to thy bride
Thy love is sweet and sweeteneth
The very bitterness of death.

Of a true love clean and derne
I have now written thee a Ron,
How thou might, if thou wilt, learn
For to love thy Leman
That truest is of alle bearn;
And more of love there knoweth none:
Beware, for He is somewhat stern,
His eye is ever thee upon.

Thou art wrought of such a kind,
Withouten love thou may not be;
And nevermore shalt thou find
One so sweet and fair as He.
If thou wilt Him to thee bind
With true love-bondes three,
With all thine heart and will and mind, —

Along the edge of the great, moving sea —
That moaned forever on her barren bars,
The old, sad love came back again to me,
Moving quietly under the quiet stars.

O sad love, do not smile upon me so,
Nodding so gently with your little head —
All the old wonder of your eyes is dead,
And the sea-winds have chilled you long ago!

Sing, O sing again, lovely lark of mine,
Sitting there alone amidst the green of May!

In the prison-tower the lad sits mournfully;
To his father writes, to his mother writes:
Thus he wrote, and these, these were the very words:
“O good father mine, thou belovèd sir!
O good mother mine, thou belovèd dame!
Ransom me, I pray, ransom the good lad,—
He is your beloved, is your only son!”
Father, mother,—both,—both refused to hear,
Cursed their hapless race, cursed their hapless seed: