love poetry

SWEET power of Poesy! I love thee well,
And I will pass with Thee this Summer's day;
Up the rude hill, or down the sloping dell,
Or whether thro' the Woods I wind my way,
I'll sit me down and of thy pleasings tell,
Because, sweet Poesy, in sooth I love Thee well.

My darling has a merry eye,
And voice like silver bells:
How shall I win her, prithee, say,—
By what magic spells?

If I frown, she shakes her head;
If I weep, she smiles:
Time would fail me to recount
All her wilful wiles.

She flouts me so,—she stings me so,—
Yet will not let me stir,—
In vain I try to pass her by,
My little chestnut bur.

When I yield to every whim,
She straight begins to pout.
Teach me how to read my love,
How to find her out!

For flowers she gives me thistle-blooms,—

If you tenderly love me,
Gird your loins and wade across the Zhen;
But if you do not love me—
There are plenty of other men,
Of madcaps maddest, oh!

If you tenderly love me,
Gird your loins and wade across the Wei;
But if you do not love me—
There are plenty of other knights,
Of madcaps maddest, oh!

I am, and therefore these,
Existence is by me,—
Flux of pendulous seas,
The stable, free.

I am in blush of the rose,
The shimmer of dawn;
Am girdle Orion knows,
The fount undrawn.

I am earth's potency,
The chemic ray's, the rain's,
The reciprocity
That loads the wains.

I am, or the heavens fall!
I dwell in my woven tent,
Am immanent in all,—
Suprámanent!

I am the Life in life,
Impact and verve of thought,
The reason's lens and knife,
The ethic “ought.”

Knowing beauty my misfortune,
I face my mirror with a sigh.
To please a fastidious emperor,
How shall I array myself?…
Birds flock and sing when the wind is warm,
Flower-shadows climb when the sun is high—
And year after year girls in the south
Are picking hibiscus, dreaming of love!

To-morrow shall be my dancing day:
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance:

Sing O my love, O my love, my love, my love;
This have I done for my true love.

Then was I born of a virgin pure,
Of her I took fleshly substance;
Thus was I knit to man's nature,
To call my true love to my dance:

In a manger laid and wrapped I was,
So very poor, this was my chance,
Betwixt an ox and a silly poor ass,
To call my true love to my dance:

Live Jesus, Live, and let it bee
My life to dye, for love of thee.

Love, you have broken my wings—I cried—
And oh, the sky!
Never, never to lift me high!

Only the broken-winged can fly.
Look!—Love replied.

Love, you have shattered the songs of me
And oh, the pain!
Never, never to sing again!

Singing lives on when song is dead.
Listen!—Love said.

There is a sky for a broken wing,
That I have found;
And in the stillness after song,
There is a Sound!

When weight of all the garnered years
—Bows me, and praise must find relief
In harvest-song, and smiles and tears
—Twist in the band that binds my sheaf;

Thou known Unknown, dark, radiant sea
—In whom we live, in whom we move,
My spirit must lose itself in Thee,
—Crying a name—Life, Light, or Love.

When you kiss me I am blind,
My senses
Are filled with ecstasy.
I only feel how strong my life is,
And so know myself.
From love I understand all things that live,
And even the dead.

I am like a tree
Shaken in wind.
Or like water that is drawn into the air
Through the strong loving of the sun.

When you are gone,
I am myself earthquake and eclipse,
And all cold darkness, and rending grief.
When you kiss me I am blind.