love poetry

I HAD never kissed her her whole life long,—
Now I stand by her bier does she feel
How, with love that the waiting years made strong,
I set on her lips my seal?

Will she wear my kiss in the grave's long night,
And wake sometimes with a thrill
From dreams of the old life's missed delight,
To feel that the grave is chill?

“It was warm,” will she say, “in that world above;
It was warm, but I did not know
How he loved me there, with his whole life's love—
It is cold, down here below.”

For L. C. B.

WHAT hap dismays the dead? Their couch is low;
And over it the summer grasses creep,
Or winter snows enshroud it, white and deep,
Or long-prevailing winds of autumn blow.

They hear no rumor of our joy or woe:
The ways we tread are perilous and steep;
They climb no longer, free at last to sleep,
Our weariful, vexed life no more to know.

Do they forget their loves of long ago,
And the glad hopes that made their glad hearts leap?
Or the spent joys for which they used to weep,

Fill the swift days full, my dear,
Since life is fleet;
Love, and hold Love fast, my dear,
He is so sweet—
Sweetest, dearest, fleetest comer,
Fledgling of the sudden summer.

Love, but not too well, my dear!
When skies are gray,
And the autumn winds are here,
Love will away—
Fleetest, vaguest, farthest rover
When the summer's warmth is over.

By Barada the citron now
Displays its cloud of bloom;
By Barada the almond bough
Is like a lovely loom;
And with a tide of gold unrolled
The meadows sweep and swell;
By Barada, by Barada,
Behold the asphodel!

By Barada pomegranate fires
With hues of sunset vie;
By Barada the lilt of lyres
Upon the wind goes by;
And in the vale the nightingale
Lifts its immortal tune,
By Barada, by Barada,
Beneath the sun and moon!

By Barada from crest to crest
Red gleams the cinnabar;

Here are roses red,
For their fragrance love them:
When you bend your head
Tenderly above them,
To your own lips, sweet,
Lift them up and hold them
While their lips repeat
What my heart has told them.

Grant them of your grace,
With your beauty bless them,
Fold them to your face,
Kiss them, and caress them.
Brief their day, and so
Only gladness give them,
Yours the joy to know
Love that shall outlive them.

Above the sea in splendor
The new moon hangs alone,
A silver crescent slender
Set in a sapphire zone;
Around me breathe the tender,
Sweet zephyrs of the south:
Night will not let
My heart forget
Her kisses and her mouth.

The loose sails idly swinging,
The ship lights' glow and gleam,
The bell-buoys' muffled ringing,
Drive all my thoughts to dream, —
To dream of her voice singing
The songs I love the best:
Night will not let
My heart forget
Where she has made her nest!

One summer afternoon
We strangled Love, and soon
There where my love had been,
Upon the couch, was Sin.

The face is still the same,
But an unholy flame
Gleams in her eyes that serves
To whip my angry nerves.

Upon affection's tomb
Miasmic blossoms bloom.
Whims monstrous and perverse
Those girlish lips rehearse.

Her body seems the shrine
Of some strange Messaline,
And all the lusts of men
That tortured Magdalen.

And when beside me stirs
That soft white form of hers,

I NEVER know why 't is I love thee so:
I do not think 't is that thine eyes for me
Grow bright as sudden sunshine on the sea;
Nor for thy rose-leaf lips, or breast of snow,
Or voice like quiet waters where they flow.

So why I love thee well I cannot tell:
Only it is that when thou speak'st to me
'T is thy voice speaks, and when thy face I see
It is thy face I see; and it befell
Thou wert, and I was, and I love thee well.

Among the trees, O God,
Is there not one
That with unrivalled love
Thou look'st upon?

And of all blessed birds,
Hath not thy Love
Found for its fittest mate
The homing dove?

Or, mid the flame of flowers
That light the land,
Doth not the lily first
Before thee stand?

So says my soul, O God,
The type of thee.
" In each life-circle, one
Was made for me. "

Yea; a bubble though I be,
Love, O man, that fashioned thee
Of the dust, created me
Not of earth, but of the sea:
Kindred blossoms then are we —
Time-blooms on eternity.