love poetry

Love, what were fame,
And thou not in it,
That I should hold it worth
Much toil to win it?

What were success
Didst thou not share it?
As Spring can spare the snows
I well could spare it!

Love, what were love
But of thy giving
That it should much prevail
To sweeten living?

Nay, what were life,
Save thou inspire it,
That I should bid my soul
Greatly desire it?

It was only three days ago,
I sadly said good-bye.
To all my pretty flowers, and wept
To think that they must die.

To my beautiful tea-rose
Which by my window stood;
Which then was full of blossoms
And tender shoots and bud.

And to my scarlet-flowering sage,
And petunias red and white,
My zinnias and my dahlias,
And yellow 'sturtiums bright.

I said good-bye with tear-dimmed eyes,
For were not these the flowers
Which to me had been comrades
Through by-gone summer hours?

Unto my friends I give my thoughts
Unto my God my soul,
Unto my foe I leave my love—
These are of life the whole.

Nay, there is something—a trifle—left;
Who shall receive this dower?
See, Earth Mother, a handful of dust—
Turn it into a flower.

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it;
—Cast sweets into its cup whene'er you can.
No heart so hard but love at last may win it.
—Yes, love on through doubt and darkness, and believe
There is no thing which love may not achieve.

Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it;
—Cast sweets into its cup whene'er you can.
No heart so hard but love at last may win it.
—Yes, love on through doubt and darkness, and believe
There is no thing which love may not achieve.

I'm just talking all the time about love:
I try sometimes to talk of other things but I come back to love:
To my simple love for men and women, to my love for you, to my love for life:
Not caring at all what may be said of me because of it, coming back to love:
From whatever excursion into other fields, where other motives prevail, coming back to love:
Something in my heart driving me: something in you impelling me: something: something:
The casual day not satisfying me: the casual ambitions and rewards:

The love of my life came not
As love unto others is cast;
For mine was a secret wound—
But the wound grew a pearl, at last.

The divers may come and go,
The tides, they arise and fall;
The pearl in its shell lies sealed,
And the Deep Sea covers all.

Threescore and ten! the blushing spring
Has changed to autumn's brown;
The glossy head, for auburn curls,
Now wears a silver crown.

Fair day of life, so rich in good!
So seldom tempest-tossed!
How joy and love have filled the space
Between the bloom and frost!

And thou half round the globe hast trod;
Hast traced, from distant seas,
The northern crown and southern cross,
And felt the tropic breeze.

Thy children, held in honor, stand,
Known in the world's highways;

Sixty benignant years,
With all their joys and tears,
Have rolled by,
Since we, made one for life,
Were wedded, man and wife.
You and I.

The blest days we have seen,
The lands where we have been,
You and I,
Will linger on the brain,
Like some sweet song's refrain,
Till we die.

The friends our hearts have loved,
Whose love our hearts have proved,
Yours and mine,—
Some are our solace yet;
Some, like bright suns, now set,
Still they shine.

The years and ages pass,

Harper divine! with Love's elusive fingers
Touch the strings of this soft-breathing lyre
Till, vocal as the forest, choral as the sea,
They voice the everlasting song,
Fill all the air with ecstasy of wings,
And turn the harp to music.

My soul goes out to thee in adoration;
Thy love-revealing eyes
Have lifted me from dearth and desolation
To the blue bending skies.
Thou art my bliss, and all my thought of thee
Is love and beauty and sincerity.

I worship thee and blend the pale hues tender
In which the dawn is clad—
God's beauty—with the image of thy splendour
And know that He is glad.
My soul in loving thee is praising Him
More sweetly than the choral seraphim.

The footfall of the years brief in duration,