love poetry

Full well I know the grief and smart
That is and will be mine:
Not vain your warning, O poor heart;
But still for love I pine.

From Heliodora fly' — But how?
I have nor strength nor shame.
The very thoughts that warn me glow
Enraptured at her name.

I like not grapes that still are green,
I like not grapes that pressed have been,
And so I would not choose to woo
Widow Glum or Maiden Prue.
Compassion suits the widowed dame,
Respect is due to virgin shame:
My wife a beauty ripe shall be
To tread the courts of Love with me.

Venus, ruler of the waves,
Who the storm-tossed seaman saves,
As a helper by me stand,
For I shipwreck make on land.

I hate Dan Cupid; he is cruel found
And ever aims his shafts my heart to wound.
'Twere better for him raging beasts to fight —
Why should a god set mortal hearts alight?
What glory will he win by slaying me?
My life, methinks, a paltry prize will be.

The dream that we beheld will never more
On mortal wondering dazzled eyes descend.
The sea, less jewelled, will break along the shore:
Love's voice with music will less softly blend.

The rose will veil its splendour when we die.
" Something there was within its tender bloom "
Each loving heart may say, " which, living, I,
I only, saw, — that ceases at my tomb "

And woman? Did not one soul find her fair
Beyond all mortals who have lived and died?
Breathe all heaven's fragrance in her marvellous hair?

In the leafless sycamore
Lo! a winter nest.
Round it all the ceaseless roar
Of the storm's unrest.
Here love's palace once was seen
Swinging to the breeze,
Roofed and guarded by the green,
Full of melodies.
Here the sunset loved to rest,
Smiling on the thrush's nest.

In yon London attic room
Once a painter wrought;
All our dense November gloom
Darkened not his thought.
Woman's love was here as well;
Woman's loving eyes
Met the painter's when they fell
From the pictured skies.

I.

Love with all thy strength of being, while the summer days are long,
While thy heart can mix its music with the lark's and thrush's song;
While the heart of woman seeks thee for the sake of love alone,
While thine ardour wins her sweetness, lures her from her starry throne.

II.

Love with all thy might of manhood, while the summer nights are sweet,
While the honeysuckle listens for the sound of lovers' feet;
While thy voice can ring with passion, while keen rapture can be won,

I .

The Lily watched the stately Rose
And envied her her bloom
" I wait, " she said, " in white repose,
I might be in my tomb
The Rose is sweet, the Rose is red,
Her lover is the Sun:
But I — I might as well be dead!
I'm loved and sought of none!

I never shall be happy,
I never shall be red!

" Oh, well I love the red red gold,
So sang the maiden fair:
" I love to twine in fold on fold
My bright soft golden hair
In spring the golden daffodils
Shine out in field and lane,
And when red gold the coffer fills
Why should a girl complain —
And when red gold the coffer fills
Why should a girl complain, complain,
Why should a girl complain? "

There came a lover bold and strong
To worship and to dare;
His voice of gold sang passion's song,
He stroked the golden hair.

O artist dreaming thus thy life away,
There is a higher life than thou canst guess.
Art thou a poet? sweet love answers, “nay.”
Was Christ a poet? woman answers, “yes.”

The highest poethood is ever this:
To love as Christ loved, and to save the race.
Not to spend wild years, seeking kiss on kiss,
But to draw forth the soul in woman's face.

To aid the weary, and to lift the low:
To show God's pity in the human sphere:
Besought by sorrow, never to say “no”
To lend the helpless heart a ready ear: