love poetry

A thousand books with patient art
Had lent him poise and power,
Yet love entangled brain and heart
In one brief hour!

Beyond the four seas of Eire, beyond the sunset's rim,
It lies half-forgot, in a valley deep and dim;
Like a star of fire from the skies' gold tire,
And whoso drinks the nine drops shall win his heart's desire —
At the Well o' the World's End.

What go ye seeking, seeking, seeking,
O girl white-bosomed, O girl fair and young?
" I seek the Well-water, the cool Well-water,
That my love may have love for me ever on his tongue. "

What go ye seeking, seeking, seeking,

Leap, my swift reindeer,
Over plain and hill!
Thou shalt browse thy fill
My love's hut a-near.
Softest mosses grow
There beneath the snow.

Ah, how brief the day,
And the road how long!
Leap thou with my song;
Let us haste away.
Here can be no rest;
Wolves this place infest.

See yon eagle rise —
Ah, that I could fly!
See yon cloud scud by —
Would I sailed the skies,
So I from above
Might behold thee, Love!

You so quickly yet
Firmly trapped me, Sweet!

Say not — I love, — when Beauty storms,
And takes perforce thy willing heart;
Her kindling smile each bosom warms,
Her eye is Cupid's bow and dart.
For rosy cheeks and breasts of snow,
And teeth that gleam where red lips be,
Such things will drive men daft, you know,
As long as men can think or see.

But if a passion in thee rise
For one whose outward look is bad,
Then dost thou see with partial eyes;
Then love indeed hath made thee mad.

For scented breath and laughter low,

I'm in love with a widow. I own it. I swear it!
Fill your glasses, and drink me her weal.
Ridicule, disaffection — let none of you dare it;
Real love is too precious, and my love is real.

But first, jolly friends, ere you hasten to pledge her,
Of her virtues I'll briefly descant;
Everything that is charming I'll boldly allege her —
" More virtues than virtue? " Ah, well, that I'll grant.

As a comrade, my widow's seductively sprightly;
Nature made her, and then made no more;

Oh to be lovely in the time of flowers
When all the earth is bridal to the sun!
And to go golden, heedless of the hours,
Free to be captured, jubilant to be won!
Surely 'tis sweet upon a summer's day
To be with all things blooming in accord.
Oh to go lovely in the month of May;
To be adorable! To be adored!

Love is not lovelier than when the heart
Stirs with the bluet's first awakening
To the tenderest tip-toeing in of spring.
And love from beauty may not keep apart
When once the iris whispers to the rose —

Now I remember Guinever the queen
And Launcelot whose love was a despair.
Young Tristan's passion " for Iseult the Fair,
Elaine the good, and Doette the serene.
But oh, to look into your eyes of green
Is to see Lais langorous in her lair,
Phryne's pale lovers tangled in your hair,
Mad for her mouth while on your lips they lean.

All the perilous beauty I have known
Or glimpsed in volumes of a high romance
Move in your shadow, quicken in your glance,
Plead through your body, languish, and make moan,

At dewy Dawn,
As o'er the Lawn,
Young Roger early stray'd,
He chanced to meet
With Jenny sweet,
The blooming Country Maid.
Her Cheeks so red
With Blushes spread
Shew'd like the breaking Day.
Her modest Look
The Shepherd took;
She stole his Heart away.

With tender Air,
He woo'd the Fair,
And movingly addrest;
For Love divine,
Can Clowns refine,
And warm the coldest Breast;

O, bliss! where hearts are all aflame
With love far deeper than a name,
Where speech from hearts so sweetly slips,
In loving words and touch of lips,
Where rise and find a transient rest,
The noblest passion of the breast,
I fain would dwell if not for aye,
At least on each Thanksgiving day.
O, love! wherever love is found
In all this toilsome world around
In ache and woe and endless strife
Thou art the balm in human life,
That maketh possible to bear
Our mingled load of joy and care.

You ask for summer instead of cold weather,
But that can never be,
The passion that once so bound us together,
Forever is dead in me.

O yes! I loved and sought to discover
To you my heart's distress,
But the love you cheaply gave to another,
Turned mine to bitterness.

It is now too late; and past forever
The time to gather in
The ties of love and bind together,
The life that might have been.