love poetry

When love on time and measure makes his ground —
Time that must end, though love can never die, —
'Tis love betwixt a shadow and a sound,
A love not in the heart but in the eye;
A love that ebbs and flows, now up, now down;
A morning's favour and an evening's frown.

Sweet looks show love, yet they are but as beams;
Fair words seem true, yet they are but as wind;
Eyes shed their tears, yet are but outward streams;
Sighs paint a sadness in the falsest mind:
Looks, words, tears, sighs, show love when love they leave:

When love meets love, breast urged to breast,
God interposes,
An unacknowledged guest,
And leaves a little child among our roses.

O, gentle hap!
O, sacred lap!
O, brooding dove!
But when he grows
Himself to be a rose,
God takes him—where is then our love?
O, where is all our love?

When I was young, love, and in full blossom
All young men then came surrounding me.
When I was young, love, and well-behaved,
A false young man came a-courting me.

So love it is pleasing, love it is teasing
And love is a treasure when first it's new,
But as it grows older it still grows colder
And fades away like the morning dew.

I left my father, I left my mother,
I left my brothers and sisters too,
I left my home and my kind relations,
Forsaked them all for the love of you.

When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast
Save in the cross of Christ my God.
All vain things that charm me most
I sacrifice them to his flood.

See from his head, his hands, his feet,
Sorrow and love flowed mingling down.
Did e'er such love and sorrow meet
Or thorns compose so rich a crown?

His dying crimson like a robe
Spreads o'er his body on the tree.

When he kicked the ball under a plum tree,
a blossom fell, fluttering, and the ball stayed in the sky.
Kicking the ball high is what a good player does.
How I love my lord in pale blue hakama , as he kicks the ball!
My lord is good at playing ball.

When April & dew brings primroses here
I think love of you at the Spring o' the year
Did I harbour bad words when your garter fell off
I to stoop was deterred but I stood not to scoff
A bitt of brown list of small value must be
But as it lay there 'twas a diamond to me

Ere back you turned to pick it up
I noticed well the place
For children there for violets stoop
With many a rosey face
I fain would stoop myself you see
But dare not well presume
The Blackbird sung out let it be
The maid was in her bloom

The mother-hands no further toil may know;
The mother-eyes smile not on you and me;
The mother-heart is stilled, alas! — But O
The mother-love abides eternally.

FOR EASTER

VOICE of Mankind, sing over land and sea —
Sing, in this glorious morn!
The long, long night is gone from Calvary —
The cross, the thong and thorn;
The sealed tomb yields up its saintly guest,
No longer to be burdened and oppressed.

Heart of Mankind, thrill answer to His own,
So human, yet divine!
For earthly love He left His heavenly throne —

When I have folded up this tent
— And laid the soiled thing by,
I shall go forth 'neath different stars,
— Under an unknown sky.

And yet whatever house I find
— Beneath the grass or snow
Will ne'er be tenantless of love
— Or lack the face I know.

O lips — wild roses wet with rain!
— Blown hair of drifted brown!
O passionate eyes! O panting heart —
— When in that colder town

I lie, the one inhabitant,
— My hands across my breast,
How warm through all eternity

When green as a river was the barley,
Green as a river the rye,
I waded deep and began to parley
With a youth whom I heard sigh.
" I seek, " said he, " a lovely lady,
A nymph as bright as a queen,
Like a tree that drips with pearls her shady
Locks of hair were seen.
And all the rivers became her flocks
Though their wool you cannot shear, —
Because of the love of her flowing locks . . .
The kingly Sun like a swain
Came strong, unheeding of her scorn,
Bathing in deeps where she has lain,