love poetry

Oh, fierce is the heat,
And weary is the street,
And all day long
It is work, work, work!
But farewell work
For love and a song,
When twilight's come
And the heart turns home.
Oh, the nest for the bird,
And the hive for the bee,
And home, home, home
For my dearies and me!

Oh, care flies far
From the twilight star;
And the long, kind night
It is love, love, love!
And warm breathes love,
Breathes low, breathes light,
O'er the small, kissed faces

We were as if new-born — so brightly-dyed
On us the light of love's soft morning beamed.
How, Laura! glowed thy lips! thy features gleamed!
How flashed thine eyes! how swelled thy heart's full tide!
Me, too, what founts of love revivified!
With higher thoughts my restless bosom teemed,
So that my wonted sleep I needless deemed;
A briefer waking dream its place supplied.
Yes, love is higher life in common things;
Such were the tokens of its living fires
Which now I seek, in thee or me, in vain;

I LOVE not wildly — as a rule —
The Poets of the Moony School.
But how heroic — to subsist
Exclusively on moon and mist!

He dwelt with the bright gods of elder time,
On earth and in their cloudy haunts above.
He loved them: and in recompense sublime,
The gods, alas! gave him their fatal love.

A STAR looked down from heaven and loved a flower
Grown in Earth's garden — loved it for an hour.
Let eyes that trace his orbit in the Spheres
Refuse not, to a ruin'd rosebud, tears.

CCLXV.-WALK

I THE pain is not so bad that I endure
As I voy loyalty
By traison last desconfiture;
For I have long time im perfectly,
Loyally, in good faith,
One more day ui hate doy
And my cuer takes more grant undersigned,
For me it was evilly tray.

I amoie such a very pure love
Qu'onques to do li pensay falsehood
And his desloial and perjury
Is and will be all day and ha beene,
If that from gold but Renoy
He and his love is and loy,

This antique song, new sung in fashion new,
From me, half silent fallen, with love to you,
O singer of unvexed scenes and virgin themes
In strait, quaint, ancient metres, thronged with dreams!

To you, dear girl, and other friends like you,
No many, but well proved and loved, my pen,
To steal a little from the sting of parting,
Writes not " Farewell " but " Till we meet again. "

Sullenly falls the rain,
Still hangs the dripping leaf,
And ah, the pain!—
The slow, dull ache of my grief,
That throbs—“In vain, in vain,—
You have garnered your sheaf!”

You have garnered your sheaf, with the tares
Therein, and unripe wheat,—
All that Death spares,
Who has come with too swift feet,
Not turning for any prayers
Nor all who entreat.

They entreated with tears. But I—
Ah me, all I can say
Is only a cry!
I had loved you many a day,
Yet never had fate drawn nigh

If all my loaves of bread were two,
I would divide my store
And buy me fragrant hyacinths
To glad the grated door
Of some one hedged in and confined;
Of one whose bolts and bars
Have shut out almost everything
But friendship, love and stars.