love poetry

Heroines strong are we,
Sisters of Masons free,
Men of God's love;
Fighting for truth and right,
Walking in love's clear light,
Trusting for strength and might,
Our God above.

Being true, we can not fall,
He will uphold us all
With his strong arm;
Then let us march and pray,
Walk with Him day by day,
He'll safely lead the way,
Keep us from harm.

Heroines strong and bold,
Like heroines of old,
Rahab and Ruth,
We are a valiant band
Marchin gto glory land

1

Clymena still complains of me
And I of her complain too;
But would you know the cause, why we
This quarrel did attain to?
'Tis 'cause I am not true saies she,
And I say that again too.

2

I cannot choose but wonder why
This lovely toy doth blame me,
If my heart wears inconstancy;
It is but what became me
Since she was fickle why not I?

1

Prithee Caelia tell me, why
Thou fool'st away thy precious howers,
Beauty fades, and youth doth fly,
There's no trust to futurity
Time present's only in our powers.
She that her present joys doth defer,
Would love at the last, when none will love her,
And so proves her own Idolater.

2

Either love or say you will not,
For love or scorn's all one to me,
Diversion's pleasant, though it fill not;

1

Love, I must tell thee, I'l no longer be
A Victime to thy beardless Deity:
Nor shall this heart of mine,
Now 'tis return'd,
Be offered at thy shrine,
Or at thine Altar burn'd.
Love, like Religion's made an aiery name,
To awe those souls whom want of wit makes tame.

2

There's no such thing as Quiver, Shafts or Bow,
Nor does Love wound, but men imagine so
Or if it does perplex

1

Lady you'l wonder when you see
With those bright twins of eyes,
These ragged lines that crawle from me,
And note the contrarietie
That both in them and in their Authour lyes

2

I that came hither with a breast
Coated with Male about;
Proof 'gainst your beauty, and the rest,
And had no room for Love to nest,
Where reason lodgd within, and love kept out.

1

Mistake me not, I am not of that mind
To hate all woman kind;
Nor can you so my patience vex,
To make my Muse blaspheme your sex,
Nor with my Satyrs bite you;
Though there are some in your free-State,
Some things in you, who're Candidate,
That he who is, or loves himself, must hate;

When the days are long in May
I love the sweet song of distant birds,
And when I have left that place
I remember a distant love:
I am burdened and bowed down with desire,
So that neither song nor hawthorn flower
Pleases me more than icy winter.

I consider true the Lord
By whom I shall see this distant love;
But for one good thing that happens to me
I get two misfortunes, for she is so distant;
Ah! how I wish I were a pilgrim there,
So that my staff and my cloak
Might be seen by her beautiful eyes!

I have plenty of song masters
And song mistresses around me:
Meadows and orchards, trees and flowers,
Birds songs and lays and cries
For the sweet, gentle season,
And so I settle with a little enjoyment,
Such that no diversion can gladden me
As does the company of worthy love.

Let the shepherds have their pipes,
And the children their little games,
And let such loves be mine
In which I may enjoy and be enjoyed;
For I know her to be wholly good
To her lover in a forbidding place:

Since our season begins to grow dark,
And the branches are bare of their leaves,
And I see the sun's rays so low
That the days are dark and shadowy,
And from the birds one hears no songs or lays,
For joy of love we should be glad.

One cannot serve this love so much
That its reward will not redouble a thousand times;
For distinction and joy and everything, and more,
Those who are capable of it shall have;
For it never went back on promises or broke them —
But it seems it will be difficult to conquer.

With the season which renews
The world, and makes the meadows green again,
I wish to begin a new song
About a love which I desire;
But she is so distant from me
That I cannot reach her,
Nor does she take pleasure in my words.

Nothing can ever comfort me;
Rather, let me die
When they have separated me from my lady —
Slanderers, God hate them!
Alas! I will have desired her so much,
That for her I lament, weep, and sigh,
And I act as if I were out of my mind.

She whom you hear me sing about