love poetry

She press'd her slight hand to her brow, or pain
Or bitter thoughts were passing there. The room
Had no light but that from the fireside,
Which show'd, then hid, her face. How very pale
It look'd, when over it the glimmer shone!
Is not the rose companion of the spring?
Then wherefore has the red-leaf'd flower forgotten
Her cheek? The tears stood in her large dark eyes —
Her beautiful dark eyes — like hyacinth stars,
When shines their shadowy glory through the dew
That summer nights have wept; — she felt them not,

THE LAST TIME I CAME O'ER THE MOOR.

The last time I came o'er the moor,
I left my love behind me:
Ye pow'rs! what pain do I endure,
When soft ideas mind me!
Soon as the ruddy morn display'd
The beaming day ensuing,
I met betimes my lovely maid,
In fit retreats for wooing.

Beneath the cooling shade we lay,
Gazing and chastly sporting;
We kiss'd and promis'd time away,

When the down is on the chin
And the gold-gleam in the hair,
When the birds their sweethearts win
And champagne is in the air,
Love is here, and Love is there,
Love is welcome everywhere.

Summer's cheek too soon turns thin,
Days grow briefer, sunshine rare;
Autumn from his cannekin
Blows the froth to chase Despair:
Love is met with frosty stare,
Cannot house 'neath branches bare.

When new life is in the leaf
And new red is in the rose,
Though Love's Maytime be as brief

My God, because Thou art so good,
And always hatest sin,
Would that I loved Thee as I should,
And ever true had been.

I grieve that I have greatly erred,
And gone my wilful way,
Even as one who, having heard,
Refuses to obey.

But now, my God, with all my soul
And heart and mind and strength,
I love my Saviour best of all,
In breadth and depth and length

If Thou wilt be my gracious Friend,
For all the world can give
No more will I my God offend
The longest day I live.

Meek , pastoral, quiet souls, whoe'er ye be,
Who love to ply in peace your daily task,
Nor of your gracious God find aught to ask,
But what may help you in Eternity.
Kind spirits, sooth'd and cheer'd by all you meet,
Soothing and cheering all yourselves no less,
Because in all ye see ye own and bless
A God who loves you, and accepts your love:
Would ye find out a fitting tomb? These firs,
Their sea-like dirge soft whispering day and night,
Hither your weary wandering steps invite.

1.

My gen'rous heart disdains
The slave of Love to be,
I scorn his servile chains
And boast my liberty.
This whining
And pining
And wasting with care
Are not to my taste, be she ever so fair.

2.

Shall a girl's capricious frown
Sink my noble spirits down?
Shall a face of white and red

In token of the love you gave,
The faith, the trust, reposed in me,
When our young hearts were gay and free,
I plant this flower upon thy grave!

The world is far too poor to give
A value like it took away!
I nevermore a joyous day,
Since you are gone, shall know or live.

In token of the love you gave,
The faith, the trust, reposed in me,
When our young hearts were gay and free,
I plant this flower upon thy grave!

The world is far too poor to give
A value like it took away!

From me, my Dear, O seek not to receive
What e'en deep-read Experience cannot give.
We may, indeed, from the Physician's skill
Some Med'cine find to cure the body's ill.
But who e'er found the physic for the soul,
Or made th' affections bend to his controul?
When thro' the blaze of passion objects show
How dark 's the shade! how bright the colours glow!
All the rous'd soul with transport's overcome,
And the mind's surly Monitor is dumb.

In vain the sages turn their volumes o'er,
And on the musty page incessant pore,

When life's fitful reign is over,
When its cherished dreams are dead,
When the spirit is a rover,
When the soul from earth has fled

To the realms of endless glory,
Mortals cannot comprehend —
Long the theme of song and story —
Where old joys and new joys blend,

We shall know and love each other,
Know and love each other there,
Where the angels dwell together —
Angels passing bright and fair.

Nothing lives but love's sweet essence,
And the soul's all quenchless light;

She was young; old Conroy took her,
Took her for herself alone,
For no wealth had she to offer,
Love for him she had not shown.

But, he said, that did not move him;
He of wealth abundance had;
He was old, and she could make him
Less a recluse, lone and sad!

Age had robbed his breast of passion,
And had drained his eyes of tears;
He would leave his ample fortune
To the wife of his last years.

She was all that painters picture,
All that poets deem divine;