love poetry

Little Sally Sand
Sittin' in the sand,
Weepin', cryin'
For a young man,

Rise, Sally, rise,
Wipe your dirty eyes,
Turn to the east and turn to the west,
And turn to the one that you love best.

All you that have indulgent Parents been
And have your Children in perfection seen
Of youth and beuty; lend one Teare to mee
And trust mee I will doe as much for thee
Unlesse my own griefe do exhaust my store
Then will I sigh till I suspire noe more
Twice hath the earth Thrown Cloris Mantle by
Imbroidered or'e with Curious Tapestry
And twice hath seem'd to mourn unto our sight
Like Jewes, or Chinesses in snowey white
Since shee laid down her milkey limbs on Earth
Which dying gave her virgin Soule new birth

Faded spray of mignonette
Can you ever more forget
How you lay that summer night,
In the new moon's silvery light,
Dreaming sweet in tranquil rest
On my true-love's snowy breast?

Since her rosy finger-tips
Bore you to her fragrant lips,
Blessed you with a shadowy kiss,
Nestled you again in bliss,
(Envied of the Gods above)
All is faded save my love.

Whatever I said and whatever you said,
I love you.
The word and the moment forever have fled;
I love you.
The breezes may ruffle the stream in its flow,
But tranquil and clear are the waters below;
And under all tumult you feel and you know
I love you.

Whatever you did and whatever I did,
I love you.
Whatever is open, whatever is hid,
I love you.
The strength of the oak makes the tempest a mock,
The anchor holds firm in the hurricane's shock;
Our love is the anchor, the oak and the rock.
I love you.

For love of lovely words, and for the sake
Of those, my kinsmen and my countrymen,
Who early and late in the windy ocean toiled
To plant a star for seamen, where was then
The surfy haunt of seals and cormorants:
I, on the lintel of this cot, inscribe
The name of a strong tower.

A thousand housetops under the dome
And every house is one man's home,
With love and quarrel and truth and sin.
I should find if I walked therein
Under the eaves of every house
Secrets, laughter and sullen brows,
And bitter battles and comrades kind
And the love of a woman I should find
[Every anger] and hope there comes,
In any home of a thousand homes.

And strangest yet, find them in the press
Who say that the world is emptiness.

I LOVED you once, while you loved me;
Altho' you flirted now and then,
It only was with two or three,
But now you more than flirt with ten.

The red rose hath its splendour,—
The lily its white gleam,
And tender
It floats above the stream.

The sea hath sun to lighten,—
The lover hath his maid
To heighten
Love-pleasure long-delayed.

The green leaves interlacing
Have the wind's subtle breath
Embracing:—
The poet hath but death.

Love built a chamber in my heart,
A daintier ne'er was seen;
'Twas filled with books and gems of art
And all that makes a lover's part
True homage to his queen.

The ceiling was of silver bright
That showed the floor below;
The walls were hung with silk so white
That e'en the mirror was to sight
A slope of driven snow.

Then Love threw open wide the door,
And sang, as in a dream,
A song as sweet as bird can pour
Above the sunlight-marbled floor
Of some clear forest stream.

Love, grant me kisses beyond counting,
As the hairs upon my head;
A thousand and a hundred shed,
A thousand more be their amounting,
And then add thousands more again,
So that none shall know the number,
And no record shall encumber
With the list of where and when.