love poetry

Let us love while life is young,
And the vital stream is glowing;
When the heart is newly strung,
And the tide of health is flowing.

Let us pluck the Paphian rose,
When its bud is first unfolding;
Ere its withered petals close,
In the misty darkness moulding.

Pluck it, when the morning dew
Twinkles on the new-blown flower,
And the vernal sky of blue
Opens through the melting shower.

Pluck it, when the air is sweet,
And the winds no more are chilling;
When the loving swallows meet,

O, wilt thou go with me, love,
And seek the lonely glen?
O, wilt thou leave for me, love,
The smiles of other men? —
The birds are there aye singing,
And the woods are full of glee,
And love shall there be flinging
His roses over thee.

O, wilt thou go with me, dear,
And share my humble lot?
O, wilt thou live with me, dear,
Within a lowly cot? —
Though beauty hath enshrouded thee
With all that 's sweet and fair,
The sorrows that have clouded thee
Shall all be wanting there.

In the south country there lives a lovely lady,
Her face as delicate as peach or plum
In the morning she wanders on the north shore of the River,
In the evening she wanders on an islet in the Xiang
But these days rosy cheeks are out of fashion,
No one is there to see her dazzling smile
In the blink of an eye, the year's night is on us,
Such fleeting beauty cannot last for long.

Come, thou Almighty Will!
Our fainting bosoms fill
With thy great power;
Strength of our good intents,
Our tempted hour's Defence,
Calm of faith's confidence,
Come, in this hour!

Come, thou most tender Love!
Within our spirits move,
Their sweetest guest;
Extinguish passion's fire,
Exalt each low desire,
To deeds of love inspire,
Quickener and Rest!

Come, Light serene and still!
Our darkened spirits fill
With thy clear day;
Guide of the feeble sight,

It was the hour of moonlight, and the bells
Had rung their curfew tones, and they were still;
The echo died around the distant hill,
Sinking in faint and fainter falls and swells,
Accordant with the fitful wind, that blew
Over the new-mown meadow, where the dew
Stood twinkling on the closely shaven stems,
Glittering as 't were a carpet sown with gems;
And from the winding river there arose
A mist, that curled in volumed folds, and gave
A snowy mantle to the stealing wave,
Like that which fancy, love-enchanted, throws

Alas, a veiled and silent Comer
Has dimmed the stars and hid the sun!
Gone is the glory of the summer,
And life is done.

Oh, life is done, for hope is banished,
What joy can be for you in store,
When the one face you loved has vanished
For evermore?

Nay, lonely mother, love is stronger
Than any tyranny of death;
Does faithful love survive no longer

This is the reckless thing I do,
Simply because her eyes are blue,
As are the summer skies above her; —
Merely because her eyes are blue,
This is the foolish thing I do,
I love, love, love her.

Even while chopping
the dried vegetables
her heart was aflutter

When the horse stays in
the groom makes love at home.

" Here lieth love. " Deep lettered on a stone
Are these few words, but never name and date
To say what heart would so commemorate
A dear dead love, or by what hand were strewn
The withered roses. Hither, thither blown,
A willow's branches quiver with a freight
Of melody that seems articulate;
But men who listen merely catch a moan —
" Here lieth love. "

Mine are the roses and the dead love there.
But silence! breathe no names; it were not meet
That she should know love perished from despair

A cat's wife —
grown thin from
love and barley?