love poetry

She trips across the meadows,
The weird, capricious elf!
The buds unfold their perfumed cups
For love of her sweet self;
And silver-throated birds begin to tune their lyres,
While wind-harps lend their strains to Nature's magic choirs.

She loved the Autumn, I the Spring,
Sad all the songs she loved to sing;
And in her face was strangely set
Some great inherited regret.

Some look in all things made her sigh,
Yea! sad to her the morning sky:
" So sad! so sad its beauty seems " —
I hear her say it still in dreams.

But when the day grew gray and old,
And rising stars shone strange and cold,
Then only in her face I saw
A mystic glee, a joyous awe.

Spirit of Sadness, in the spheres
Is there an end of mortal tears?

Shall I say that I love you,
Daphne disdainful?
Sore it costs as I prove you,
Loving is painful.

Shall I say what doth grieve me?
Lovers lament it.
Daphne will not relieve me;
Late I repent it.

Shall I die, shall I perish,
Through her unkindness?
Love, untaught love to cherish,
Showeth his blindness.

Shall the hills, shall the valleys,
The fields, the city,
With the sound of my outcries,
Move her to pity?

The deep falls of fair rivers
And the winds turning

The shadow gates are swinging
That hide the dawning year;
The sound of muffled ringing
Is swiftly growing clear;
The far-off music, falling
Like flutes soft and low,
Becomes a trumpet, calling,
And I must rise and go.

Lord, let my feet be surer
To walk the way unknown,
My heart a Kingdom purer,
With love upon its throne;
And let me have a vision
Of truth, and life, and need,
And hands of quick decision
For every noble deed.

And thus with humble gladness
I greet the dawning year,

Unguarded lies the wishing Maid,
Distrusting not to be betraid;
Ready to fall, with all her Charms,
A shining Treasure to your Arms.

Who hears this Story must believe,
No Swain can truer Joy receive.
Since to take Love, and give it too
Is all that Love for Hearts can do.

I

I little thought ( my Damon ) once, that you
Could prove, and what is more, to me, untrue .
Can I forget such Treachery , and Live ?
Mercy it self would not this Crime forgive.
Heaven 's Gates refuse to let Apostates in,
No that's the Great unpardonable Sin .

II

Did you not vow by all the Powers above,
That you could none but dear Orinda love?
Did you not swear by all that is Divine,

I sowed the seeds of love,
It was all in the spring,
In April, May, and June, likewise,
When small birds they do sing.

My garden's well planted
With flowers everywhere,
Yet I had not the liberty to choose for myself
The flower that I loved so dear.

My gardener he stood by,
I asked him to choose for me,
He chose me the violet, the lily and pink,
But those I refused all three.

The violet I forsook,
Because it fades so soon,
The lily and pink I did o'erlook,

See where my Love a-maying goes,
With sweet dame Flora sporting!
She most alone with nightingales
In woods delights consorting.
Turn again, my dearest!
The pleasant'st air 's in meadows:
Else by the rivers let us breathe,
And kiss amongst the willows.

I LU-LOVE you very well,
Much mu-more than I can tell,
With a lu-lu-lu-lu-love I cannot utter;
I kn-know just what to say
But my tongue gets in the way,
And af-fe-fe-fe-fe-fection 's bound to stutter!

When a wooer wu-wu-woos ,
And a cooer cu-cu-coos,
Till his face is re-re-red as a tomato,
Take his heart in bi-bi-bits,
Every portion fi-fi-fits,
Though his love song su-su-seem somewhat staccato!

A secret love or two I must confess
I kindly welcome for change in close playing,
Yet my dear husband I love ne'ertheless,
His desires, whole or half, quickly allaying,
At all times ready to offer redress:
His own he never wants but hath it duly,
Yet twits me I keep not touch with him truly.

The more a spring is drawn the more it flows,
No lamp less light retains by light'ning others:
Is he a loser his loss that ne'er knows?
Or is he wealthy that waste treasure smothers?
My churl vows no man shall scent his sweet rose: