love poetry

In vain the morn,
In purple born,
Proclaims a day
For Love's sweet sway;
In thoughts of thee
The hours will flee,
But I must grieve
'Till silent eve.

The morning flies,
But leaves the skies
Its golden hue,
And cloudless blue;
Love riseth late,
For him I wait,
But I must grieve
'Till silent eve.

Come, happy night,
With quicker flight;
The sweet hour lead
With lightning speed;
Day doth appear
A long, long year,
When one must grieve

I will obey the strictest law of love
As if I dealt with cherubim above.
I will accept no half gift from my friend
By which he thinks for hate to make amend.
But every friendly thought
Will come to me unbought
My friend may do whate'er he will
And I shall love him
If he doth it from love.
But let him do whateer he will
I think that I must hate him still
If lower motives move.

I love not all
I love not one alway
But that I love is one & all
And lasteth ever and aye.

Unhappy eyes, why did you gaze again,
Upon these fatal love-inspiring spheres?
Knew you not how her fire-flaughts would constrain,
Your crystal circles to dissolve in tears?
And you again, ev'n as unhappy ears,
Why did her painted phrase your fort surprise?
Knew you not well, that on her lips she bears
A charming host of persuasive replies?
Oh, eyes and ears, that ye had been more wise,
And had not waken'd up a sleeping flame,
Yet since the fault is done, my comfort lies
Upon the merits of a matchless dame—

1. Great Lord of all, whose work of love Creation's
2. Stern death pronounced the dread decree, Entailed on
boundless realms display, Help us to join the
all of woman born, From sorrow set our
choirs above, And hail thy providential sway.
parents free, But left us helpless and forlorn.

3. Dark was the color of our fate
Till thy benignant mercy shown,
Redeemed us from our wretched state,
And made the fatherless thine own.

4. Our hopes revive, our fears are fled,
Our joyless days and nights are o'er.

For this is Wisdom; to love, to live,
To take what Fate, or the Gods, may give,
To ask no question, to make no prayer,
To kiss the lips and caress the hair,
Speed passion's ebb as you greet its flow,--
To have,--to hold,--and,--in time,--let go!

Not what I am, O Lord, but what thou art!
That, that alone can be my soul's true rest;
Thy love, not mine, bids fear and doubt depart,
And stills the tempest of my tossing breast.

It is thy perfect love that casts out fear;
I know the voice that speaks the “It is I;”
And in these well-known words of heavenly cheer,
I hear the joy that bids each sorrow fly.

Thy name is Love! I hear it from yon cross;
Thy name is Love! I read it in yon tomb;
All meaner love is perishable dross,

Afloat!—
Ah Love, on the mirror of waters
All the world seems with us afloat,—
All the wide, bright world of the night;
But the mad world of men is remote,
And the prating of tongues is afar.
We have fled from the crowd in our flight,
And beyond the gray rim of the waters
All the turmoil has sunk from our sight.
Turn your head, Love, a little, and note
Low down in the south a pale star.
The mists of the horizon-line drench it,
The beams of the moon all but quench it,
Yet it shines thro' this flood-tide of light.

I DO not care for kisses. 'Tis a debt
We paid for the first privilege of love.
These are the rains of April which have wet
Our fallow hearts and forced their germs to move.
Now the green corn has sprouted. Each new day
Brings better pleasures, a more dear surprise,
The blade, the ear, the harvest—and our way
Leads through a region wealthy grown and wise.
We now compare our fortunes. Each his store
Displays to kindred eyes of garnered grain,
Two happy farmers, learned in love's lore,
Who weigh and touch and argue and complain—

We'll walk the woods no more,
But stay beside the fire,
To weep for old desire
And things that are no more.
The woods are spoiled and hoar,
The ways are full of mire;
We'll walk the woods no more,
But stay beside the fire.
We loved, in days of yore,
Love, laughter, and the lyre.
Ah God, but death is dire,
And death is at the door—
We'll walk the woods no more.

My son, you loved telling the story of Prince Nata
who stripped off his own flesh, returned it to his mother,
and gave his father his bones!
Now your flesh has gone to the Ninefold Springs
—does your mother understand?
and your father must gather your bones
and bring them home.