love poetry

I

I HEARD the voice of my own true love
Ripple the sunny weather.
Then away, as a dove that follows a dove,
We flitted through woods together.

II

There was not a bush nor branch nor spray
But with song was swaying and ringing.
" Let us ask of the birds what means their lay,
And what is it prompts their singing. "

III

We paused where the stichwort and speedwell grew

Since to be loved endures,
— To love is wise:
Earth hath no good but yours,
— Brave, joyful eyes:

Earth hath no sin but thine,
— Dull eye of scorn:
O'er thee the sun doth pine
— And angels mourn.

To my love I whisper, and say
Knowest thou why I love thee? — Nay:
Nay, she saith; O tell me again. —

When in her ear the secret I tell,
She smileth with joy incredible —

Ha! she is vain — O nay —
Then tell us! Nay, O nay.

But this is in my heart,
That Love is Nature's perfect art,
And man hath got his fancy hence,
To clothe his thought in forms of sense.

Fair are thy works, O man, and fair
Thy dreams of soul in garments rare,
Beautiful past compare,

What need of wit? What need of wile?
— I know your eyes are killing;
But oh! he isn't worth a smile
— Who isn't worth a shilling!
And yet, by all the gods of rhyme,
— And by your lips I swear,
Though all my love is loss of time
— And all my hope despair,
The glittering stream shall cease to stray,
— The wind refuse to rove,
All solid things shall melt away,
— Before I cease to love!

Fair Freedom shall be found in Quod,
— Stern Justice in the Quorum,
Carlile shall praise the grace of God,

As one who loving beyond words will bring
The hue and perfumes of a common rose
And trust a meadow's language to disclose
The true simplicity of offering;
Then, as he mutely gives his little, spring
Obscure slow tears that she who studies knows,
Till in some deeper knowledge both repose
And the old flower is now a useless thing.

(BOUTS-RIMeS)

They say, when the Great Prompter's hand shall ring
— Down the last curtain upon earth and sea,
— All the Good Mimes will have eternity
To praise their Author, worship love and sing;
Or to the walls of Heaven wandering
— Look down on those damned for a fretful d — — ,
— Mock them (all theologians agree
On this reward for virtue), laugh, and fling

New sulphur on the sin-incarnadined . . .
— Ah, Love! still temporal, and still atmospheric,
— — Teleologically unperturbed,

Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate,
—Where that comes in that shall not go again;
Love sells the proud heart's citadel to Fate.
—They have known shame, who love unloved. Even then
When two mouths, thirsty each for each, find slaking,
—And agony's forgot, and hushed the crying
Of credulous hearts, in heaven—such are but taking
—Their own poor dreams within their arms, and lying
Each in his lonely night, each with a ghost.
—Some share that night. But they know, love grows colder,

When I see you, who were so wise and cool,
Gazing with silly sickness on that fool
You've given your love to, your adoring hands
Touch his so intimately that each understands,
I know, most hidden things; and when I know
Your holiest dreams yield to the stupid bow
Of his red lips, and that the empty grace
Of those strong legs and arms, that rosy face,
Has beaten your heart to such a flame of love,
That you have given him every touch and move,
Wrinkle and secret of you, all your life,
—Oh! then I know I'm waiting, lover-wife,

There was a damned successful Poet;
— There was a Woman like the Sun.
And they were dead. They did not know it.
— They did not know their time was done.
They did not know his hymns
Were silence; and her limbs,
That had served Love so well,
Dust, and a filthy smell.

And so one day, as ever of old,
— Hands out, they hurried, knee to knee;
On fire to cling and kiss and hold
— And, in the other's eyes, to see
Each his own tiny face,
And in that long embrace
Feel lip and breast grow warm

What have I to say to you
When we shall meet?
Yet—
I lie here thinking of you.

The stain of love
Is upon the world.
Yellow, yellow, yellow,
It eats into the leaves,
Smears with saffron
The horned branches that lean
Heavily
Against a smooth purple sky.

There is no light—
Only a honey-thick stain
That drips from leaf to leaf
And limb to limb
Spoiling the colors
Of the whole world.

I am alone.
The weight of love
Has buoyed me up
Till my head