love poetry

A LAS , how bitter are the wrongs of love!
Life has no other sorrow so acute:
For love is made of every fine emotion,
Of generous impulses, and noble thoughts;
It looketh to the stars, and dreams of Heaven;
It nestles 'mid the flowers, and sweetens earth.
Love is aspiring, yet is humble, too:
It doth exalt another o'er itself,
With sweet heart-homage, which delights to raise
That which it worships; yet is fain to win
The idol to its lone and lowly home
Of deep affection. 'Tis an utter wreck

The few sere leaves that to the branches cling,
Fall not to-day, so light the zephyr's breath;
O'er Autumn's sleep now plays the breeze of Spring,
Like love's warm kiss upon the brow of death:
Serene the firmament, save where a haze
Of dreamy softness floats upon the air,
Or a bright cloud of amber seems to gaze
In mild surprise upon the meadows bare:
Summer revives, and, like a tender strain
Borne on the night-breeze to the wondering ear,
With tender sighs melts Winter's frosty chain,
And smiles once more upon the dying year:

I love her with the seasons, with the winds,
As the stars worship, as anemones
Shudder in secret for the sun, as bees
Buzz round an open flower: in all kinds
My love is perfect, and in each she finds
Herself the goal: then why, intent to teaze
And rob her delicate spirit of its ease,
Hastes she to range me with inconstant minds?
If she should die, if I were left at large
On earth without her—I, on earth, the same
Quick mortal with a thousand cries, her spell
She fears would break. And I confront the charge

My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a wi lilye flower.
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see
Than my true love he built for me.

There came a man by middle day,
He spied his sport and went away,
And brought the king that very night,
Who brake my bower, and slew by knight.

He slew my knight to me sae dear.
He slew my knight and poind his gear.
My servants all for life did flee
And left me in extremitie.

I sew'd his sheet, making my mane,
I watched the corpse myself alane,

Come home to me, are you come home to me,
O heart of mine—but in what dolorous guise!
And the great hour, O 'twas otherwise
Love had imagined it in days to be!
These pleading hands—these lips—How dreadfully,
At what strange lips and in what alien eyes
Have you sought mine? Beneath what darkening skies
Come home to me at last, come home to me?

I would not know the reason: here upon
This breast of sorrows loose your aching breast;
Tell me again and yet again, and say
Still the eternal word, still babble on

There's a wideness in God's mercy,
Like the wideness of the sea;
There's a kindness in his justice,
Which is more than liberty.

For the love of God is broader
Than the measures of man's mind;
And the heart of the Eternal
Is most wonderfully kind.

If our love were but more simple,
We should take him at his word,
And our lives would be all sunshine
In the sweetness of our Lord.

God bless the master of this house,
Likewise the mistress too:
And all the little children
That round the table go.

Love and joy come to you,
And to your wassail too,
And God bless you and send you
A happy New Year.

Love which is here a care,
That wit and will doth mar,
Uncertain truce, and a most certain war;
A shrill tempestuous wind,
Which doth disturb the mind,
And, like wild waves, all our designs commove;
Among those sprites above
Which see their Maker's face,
It a contentment is, a quiet peace,
A pleasure void of grief, a constant rest,
Eternal joy which nothing can molest.

They met in His name who to each loving heart
The life-giving word had once spoken;
The flow of whose peace in full many a soul
For long years had continued unbroken.

They met in His name, to renew every vow
Of love, and of earnest devotion
To God and his cause, till the hearts of all men
Are his own, on the land and the ocean.

They met; and the tide of their faith rose high,
As the songs of Zion sounded,
And ebbed no more through that evening hour,
For their love to God abounded.

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?
Can wisdom be put in a silver rod,
Or love in a golden bowl?