love poetry

my love
thy hair is one kingdom
the king whereof is darkness
thy forehead is a flight of flowers

thy head is a quick forest
filled with sleeping birds
thy breasts are swarms of white bees
upon the bough of thy body
thy body to me is April
in whose armpits is the approach of spring

thy thighs are white horses yoked to a chariot
of kings
they are the striking of a good minstrel
between them is always a pleasant song.

my love
thy head is a casket
of the cool jewel of thy mind

My lord has great shoulders
though he now eats rice-pap in prison.

And I, outside his prison,
grow sallow as gold
for want of him.
When he enters the battlefield
and takes on those warriors
who brag at the festivals
in the great resounding city,
he is the swell and ebb of the sea
in the harbor
that terrifies sellers of salt.

My lefe is faren in a lond--
Alas! why is she so?
And I am so sore bound
I may nat com her to.
She hath my hert in hold,
Where-ever she ride or go,
With trew love a thousandfold.

VERSE

What is there to write,
What is there to say?
Same things happen ev'ry day.
Not a thing to write,
Not a thing to say,
So I take my pen in hand and start
The same old way.

REFRAIN

Dear, I thought I'd drop a line,
The weather's cool,
The folks are fine;
I'm in bed each night at nine.
P.S. I love you.
Yesterday we had some rain,
But all in all
I can't complain.
Was it dusty on the train?
P.S. I love you.

  VERSE

I am not such a clever one
About the latest fads.
I admit I was never one
Adored by local lads.
Not that I ever try to be a saint,
I'm the type that they classify as quaint.

  REFRAIN

I'm old-fashioned,
I love the moonlight,
I love the old-fashioned things
The sound of rain
Upon a windowpane,
The starry song that April sings.
This year's fancies
Are passing fancies,
But sighing sighs, holding hands,
These my heart understands.
I'm old-fashioned,

My father hated moonlight,
And pulled the curtains down,
Each time the snows of moonlight
Came drifting on the town.

He was an old frontiersman,
And on their deadly raids,
Comanches rode by moonlight,
In stealthy cavalcades;

And took the settler's horses,
Or left a trail of red —
He came to love the darkness,
And hate the moon, he said.

My epitaph write on your heart,
Since we did part,
For I dare swear I once lay there,
I was so near;
But time that all things doth consume,
I now presume,
Hath wasted me, so that I'm gone,
Both flesh and bone,
And every letter without doubt
Is quite rased out:
Next lover may he be love-curst
As I, the first.

My dearest rival, lest our love
Should with excentric motion move,
Before it learn to go astray,
We'll teach and set it in a way,
And such directions give unto 't,
That it shall never wander foot.
Know first then, we will serve as true
For one poor smile, as we would do,
If we had what our higher flame
Or our vainer wish could frame.
Impossible shall be our hope;
And love shall only have his scope
To join with fancy now and then,
And think what reason would condemn:
And on these grounds we'll love as true,

My Crown desired, my true love and Joy,
All hail. Grace, Mercy, Peace to thee
From Jesus Christ our Lord and God above
Most high, continually vouchsafed be.
All hail Dear Soul, whose presence makes me glad
All hail True Love, whose absence makes me sad.

Love dropping lines — of thine oft have I read,
Distilling sweetness that by far out Excells
The purest Nectar from the honey bed
Of heavenly liquor stord in curious Cells.
I read them oft, my Solace now they are,
Still near my heart though now respect to[o] far

*****The refugee uncertain at the door

You make at home; deftly you steady
The drunk clambering on his undulant floor.

*****... Only

With words and people and love you move at ease.

*****For should your hands drop white and empty

All the toys of the world would break.