love poetry

I make this rhyme of my lady and me
To give me ease of my misery,
Of my lady and me I make this rhyme
For lovers in the aftertime.
And I weave its warp from day to day
In a golden loom deep hid away
In my secret heart, where no one goes
But my lady's self, and—no one knows

With bended head all day I pore
On a joyless task, and yet before
My eyes all day, through each weary hour,
Breathes my lady's face like a dewy flower.
Like rain it comes through the dusty air,
Like sun on the meadows to think of her;

O BUBBLE, break! All heaven thou hast
Unsullied in thy heart!
Ere Time its shadow on thee cast
Love calls thee to depart.

The weed mourns on the castle wall,
The grass lies on the chamber floor,
And on the hearth, and in the hall,
Where merry music danced of yore!
And the blood-red wine no longer
Runs,—(how it used to run!)
And the shadows within, grown stronger,
Look black on the mid-day sun!
All is gone; save a Voice
That never did yet rejoice:
'Tis sweet and low; 'tis sad and lone;
And it biddeth us love the thing that's flown.

The Gardens feed no fruit nor flowers,
But childless seem, and in decay;

but being not amazing: without love
separate, smileless—merely imagine your

sorrow a certain reckoning demands…

marvelling And what may have become of
with his gradual acute lusting glance
an alert clumsily foolish wise

(tracking the beast Tomorrow by her spoor)
over the earth wandering hunter whom you
knew once?
what if (merely suppose)

mine should overhear and answer Who
with the useless flanks and cringing feet
is this (shivering pale naked very poor)
creature of shadow, that among first light

Beneath this beauty when my spirit swayeth
And with the praise of it my soul is stirred,
Love on my lips a wary finger layeth
And bindeth in my heart the eager word!
My heart, that for love's sake these long years holdeth
One dear desire to win all ways of speech,
Whose secret, love himself, I dreamed, unfoldeth—
O, is it silence, Love, that thou wouldst teach?
I have desired to suffer thy sweet burning
And prayed thy fiercest blow should on me fall;
I have grown scarred and wise in bitter learning,

At eve on Monday, on a round
I heard a sound that pleased me well,
The viol's note did smoothly float,
With a babel wrought above its swell;
I fell to ponder with the wonder,
My thoughts meandered absently,
Clear did I show that far I'd go,
As my own fancy prompted me.

I went along to join the throng,
Where there was song and drink and dance,
Maidens young and bachelors
All orderly in excellence.
The maidens scanned I, one by one
With slow gaze wandering far and nigh,
My heart was ta'en, as were my e'en,

I rather love a youth and childish rime,
Than thee whose verse and head are wise through time.

Three times a day my prayer is,
To gaze my fill on Thoralis.
And three times thrice I daily pray
Not to offend that sacred may.
But all the year my suit must be
That I may please, and she love me.

In my infinity of loss
I seek to find the gain,—
The tender glance, the word of love,
The kiss divine—in vain!
No priceless gem of memory,
But ah! the pain, the pain!

Like a lilac in the spring
Is my love, my lady-love;
Purple-white, the lilacs fling
Scented blossoms from above:

So my love, my lady-love,
Throws soft glances on my heart;
Ah, my dainty lady-love,
Every glances is Cupid's dart.

Like a pansy in the spring
Is my love, my lady-love;
For her velvet eyes oft bring
Golden fancies from above:
Ah, my heart is pansy-bound
By those eyes so tender-true;
Balmy heartsease have I found,
Dainty lady-love, in you.

Like the changeful month of spring