love poetry

Why weep in the darkness when flame and gold
Lie up in the west, and the hillsides glow
With the opaline light along them rolled,
From the sun that is sinking low?

The surge of the storm sweeping far away,
With its glitter of lightning linked and curled,
Now dashes its tossing and torrent spray
Beyond the cold edge of the world.

And the flowers that bent down before its blast,
Now open their eyes to the brilliant sun;
And from tears by the storm-clouds on them cast,
A glorious garment is spun.

At sunset I strolled out of the front gate
Not far from me, I spied you passing by
Such clouds of hair around your lovely face,
Its fragrance filled the very road you trod.

Love came at dawn when all the world was fair,
When crimson glories, bloom, and song were rife;
Love came at dawn when hope's wings fanned the air,
And murmured, “I am life.”

Love came at even when the day was done,
When heart and brain were tired, and slumber pressed;
Love came at eve, shut out the sinking sun,
And whispered, “I am rest.”

The upland farm, the cot upon the heath,
The fisher's hut, where sandy salt winds come—
The bleakest home is warm with beauty's breath,
To him that calls it home.

To him, no beauty like those lowing sheds,
Or gusty ash that creaks before the door,
Or glittering shells that gem the sandy beds,
Or foam that tufts the shore.

In man and Nature kindred spirits move,
And beauty is the union of the two:
The things we deem most lovely, and most love,
Are those she meets us through.

Farewell, sweet Love! yet blame you not my truth;
More fondly ne'er did mother eye her child
Than I your form: yours were my hopes of youth,
And as you shaped my thoughts I sighed or smiled.

While most were wooing wealth, or gaily swerving
To pleasure's secret haunts, and some apart
Stood strong in pride, self-conscious of deserving,
To you I gave my whole weak wishing heart.

And when I met the maid that realized
Your fair creations, and had won her kindness,
Say, but for her if aught on earth I prized!

Why sigh? I'm in love. And with whom? With a girl.
Is she pretty? Delightful, a rosebud, a pearl.
And where did you meet her? At dinner one night.
Do you hope to succeed? Well, I fancy I might;
But I don't want it known; it must be on the sly.
You have no thought of marriage? No, no, sir, not I
The girl has no money, or so I am told,
‘No money,’ forsooth; true love cares not for gold.

She says she loves not; but her limbs reveal
The darts of Love that she would fain conceal;
Her eyes deep sunk with purple rings beneath,
Her faltering footsteps and her panting breath.
Come, all ye Cupids, ply your fires in turn
Until the stubborn maid cry out—‘I burn.’

Blue is the sky, blue is thine eye,—
Which shall I call heaven?
Star is there, and soul is here,—
Tell me which is heaven.
I cannot know unless thou say,
So kin are both in orb and ray,
So full of heavenly feature;
The fall of dews, the flush of hues,
The tenderness of soften'd views,
Lovely alike by night and day,
And both of heavenly nature.

Blue is the sky, blue is thine eye,—
Both would image heaven;
Light is there, and love is here,—
Each the child of heaven.
Oh, might it be, and may it be,

Spokes when he sees a rosted Pig, he swears
Nothing he loves on't but the chaps and ears:
But carve to him the fat flanks; and he shall
Rid these, and those, and part by part eat all.

That woman's heart is a priceless pearl,
We all of us know very well;
But every pearl in an oyster grows,
While the oyster is cased in a shell.

And many a man, with a cunning plan
To force it its treasure to yield,
Has won him a girl, while he lost the pearl
That lay in her bosom concealed.

Some with their fingers would open the shell,
As if that were the natural way;
Some with the harsh and brutal steel
Would torture their delicate prey;

Others are told that a wedge of gold