love poetry

Pure as the mantle, which, o'er him who stood
By Jordan's stream, descended from the sky,
Is that remembrance which the wise and good
Leave in the hearts that love them, when they die.

So pure, so precious shall the memory be,
Bequeathed, in dying, to our souls by thee —
So shall the love we bore thee, cherisht warm
Within our souls thro' grief and pain and strife,
Be, like Elisha's cruse, a holy charm,
Wherewith to " heal the waters " of this life!

Love had a fever — ne'er could close
His little eyes till day was breaking;
And wild and strange enough, Heaven knows,
The things he raved about while waking.

To let him pine so were a sin; —
One to whom all the world's a debtor —
So Doctor Hymen was called in,
And Love that night slept rather better.

Next day the case gave further hope yet,
Tho' still some ugly fever latent; —
" Dose, as before " — a gentle opiate,
For which old Hymen has a patent.

After a month of daily call,

Unbind thee, love, unbind thee, love,
From those dark ties unbind thee;
Tho' fairest hand the chain hath wove,
Too long its links have twined thee.
Away from earth! — thy wings were made
In yon mid-sky to hover,
With earth beneath their dove-like shade,
And heaven all radiant over.

Awake thee, boy, awake thee, boy,
Too long thy soul is sleeping;
And thou mayst from this minute's joy
Wake to eternal weeping.
Oh, think, this world is not for thee;
Tho' hard its links to sever;

Sing to Love—for, oh, 't was he
Who won the glorious day;
Strew the wreaths of victory
Along the conqueror's way.
Yoke the Muses to his car,
Let them sing each trophy won;
While his mother's joyous star
Shall light the triumph on.

Hail to Love, to mighty Love,
Let spirits sing around;
While the hill, the dale, and grove,
With “mighty Love” resound;
Or, should a sigh of sorrow steal
Amid the sounds thus echoed o'er,
'T will but teach the god to feel
His victories the more.

If , after all, you still will doubt and fear me,
And think this heart to other loves will stray,
If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me;
By every dream I have when thou 'rt away,
By every throb Ifeel when thou art near me,
I love but thee — I love but thee!

By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing,
Where Love in depth of shadow holds his throne,
And by those lips, which give whate'er thou 'rt saying,
Or grave or gay, a music of its own,
A music far beyond all minstrel's playing,

Love , wandering through the golden maze
Of my beloved's hair,
Traced every lock with fond delays,
And, doting, lingered there.
And soon he found 't were vain to fly;
His heart was close confined,
For, every ringlet was a tie —
A chain by beauty twined.

THE brilliant black eye
May in triumph let fly
All its darts without caring who feels 'em;
But the soft eye of blue,
Tho' it scatter wounds too,
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em —
Dear Fanny!
Is much better pleased when it heals 'em.

The black eye may say,
" Come and worship my ray —
" By adoring, perhaps you may move me! "
But the blue eye, half hid,
Says from under its lid,
" I love and am yours, if you love me! "
Yes, Fanny!

Nights of music, nights of loving,
Lost too soon, remembered long.
When we went by moonlight roving,
Hearts all love and lips all song.
When this faithful lute recorded
All my spirit felt to thee;
And that smile the song rewarded —
Worth whole years of fame to me!

Nights of song, and nights of splendor,
Filled with joys too sweet to last —
Joys that, like the star-light, tender,
While they shone no shadow cast.
Tho' all other happy hours
From my fading memory fly,

Here , take my heart — 't will be safe in thy keeping,
While I go wandering o'er land and o'er sea;
Smiling or sorrowing, waking or sleeping,
What need I care, so my heart is with thee?

If in the race we are destined to run, love,
They who have light hearts the happiest be,
Then happier still must be they who have none, love,
And that will be my case when mine is with thee.

It matters not where I may now be a rover,

When on the lip the sigh delays,
As if 't would linger there for ever:
When eyes would give the world to gaze,
Yet still look down and venture never;
When, tho' with fairest nymphs we rove,
There 's one we dream of more than any —
If all this is not real love,
'T is something wondrous like it, Fanny!

To think and ponder, when apart,
On all we 've got to say at meeting;