love poetry

Sorry her lot who loves too well,
Heavy the heart that hopes but vainly,
Sad are the sighs that own the spell
Uttered by eyes that speak too plainly;
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When Love is alive and Hope is dead!

Sad is the hour when sets the Sun—
Dark is the night to Earth's poor daughters,
When to the ark the wearied one
Flies from the empty waste of waters!
Heavy the sorrow that bows the head
When Love is alive and Hope is dead!

They say Despair has power to kill
With her bleak frown; but I say No:
If life did hang upon her will,
Then Hope had perish'd long ago:
Yet still the twain keep up their “barful strife,”
For Hope Love's leman is, Despair his wife.

The air is charged with amatory numbers—
Soft madrigals, and dreamy lovers' lays.
Peace, peace, old heart! Why waken from its slumbers
The aching memory of the old, old days?

Time was when Love and I were well acquainted;
Time was when we walked ever hand in hand;
A saintly youth, with worldly thought untainted,
None better loved than I in all the land!
Time was, when maidens of the noblest station,
Forsaking even military men,
Would gaze upon me, rapt in adoration—
Ah me, I was a fair young curate then!

Far on the gray sea glooms and glowers,
Far off the salt winds vaguely stray,
And through the long monotonous hours
My thoughts go wandering on their way;

Go back to find that earlier time
When, lingering by a bluer sea,
A poet wooed me with his rhyme,
And all the world was changed for me.

The winds to music strange were set,
The sunsets glowed with sudden flame,
And all the shining sands were wet
With waves that whispered as they came,

And told a tender low-breathed tale

When worthless grandeur fills the embellish'd urn,
No poignant grief attends the sable bier;
But when distinguish'd excellence we mourn,
Deep is the sorrow, genuine is the tear.

Stranger! shouldst thou approach this awful shrine,
The merits of the honour'd dead to seek;
The friend, the son, the christian, the divine,
Let those who knew him, those who lov'd him, speak.

O let them in some pause of anguish say,
What zeal inflam'd, what faith enlarg'd his breast!
How glad th' unfetter'd spirit wing'd its way

He that labors not by his own powers
But through the favor of the Almighty
Learns through his pious occupation
Love, humility, and patience;
Becomes pure in conscience,
And humble in heart and spirit.
Slothfulness, pomp, and gluttony
Avoid, and an evil conscience
Always accuses itself
Such a one obtains it in the case of everyman…?

Though on the wings of Thought I distance
The star-vault's pallid bound,
'Tis Love must fill my heart's insistence
With heaven on earthly ground.

Angel heart and woman form!
All my praise thou art above;
Thou hast cleared my life of storm
With the sunshine of thy love.

Let me love thee my life long,
Then in heaven renew my song,
When thy day of death shall part
Woman form and angel heart!

Where art thou? And for whom, O lady mine,
Dost temper the keen ray of thy dark eyes?
For whom dost thou in soft tones harmonise
The secret music of that heart of thine?

Dost thou, my sweet, 'mid flowers and grass recline,
Dreamily gazing at the windy skies?
Or of some wooing stream art thou the prize,
To whose embrace thou dost thy limbs resign?

Oh, whereso'er thou art, whether the breeze
With soft, delicious murmur fans thy face,
Or water sleeps on thy white shoulders, these

Why , my heart, do we love her so?
(Geraldine, Geraldine!)
Why does the great sea ebb and flow?—
Why does the round world spin?
Geraldine, Geraldine,
Bid me my life renew:
What is it worth unless I win,
Love—love and you?

Why, my heart, when we speak her name
(Geraldine, Geraldine!)
Throbs the word like a flinging flame?—
Why does the Spring begin?
Geraldine, Geraldine,
Bid me indeed to be:
Open your heart, and take us in,
Love—love and me.