love poetry

It's dark
Switch on the poem
please
(click)
thank you
I love you
(and it was light)
but I'll still
I'll still be loving you
when
(click)
(end of light poem)
it's dark again.











Used by permission of the author.

The train draws forth from the station-yard,
And with it carries me.
I rise, and stretch out, and regard
The platform left, and see
An airy slim blue form there standing,
And know that it is she.

While with strained vision I watch on,
The figure turns round quite
To greet friends gaily; then is gone. . . .
The import may be slight,
But why remained she not hard gazing
Till I was out of sight?

"O do not chat with others there,"
I brood. "They are not I.
O strain your thoughts as if they were

The sigh of the wind in the soft belahs,
Is in tune with my thoughts to-night;
That dwell as I stray 'neath the steel bright stars
On a love that was pure and white.

And I start and thrill as I backward move,
For a face to me close I see;
Oh, surely the pow'r of a deathless love
Must be bringing you back to me!

For the thrill of that dear old love is sweet,
And it sinks to my heart's sad core;
As fresh as it did ere a soul's defeat
O'erwhelmed it in days of yore.

You say my love is but a man.
But I can find more odds
'Twixt him and others that I can
Find between him and gods.
He has in's eye
Such-majesty,
His shape is so divine
That were I owner of the world
He only should be mine.

Thinking of those who walked here long ago
On this greenway in summer and in snow
She said, ‘This is the oldest road we tread,
The oldest in the world?’ ‘Yes, love,’ I said.

Ah, Love, I sink in the timeless sleep,
Sink in the timeless sleep;
One Image stands before my eyes,
And thrills my bosom's deep:
One Vision bathes in radiant light
My spirit's palace-halls;
All stir of hand, all throb of brain,
Quivers, and sinks, and falls.
My soul fares forth; no fetters now
Chain me to this world's shore.
Sleep! I would sleep! In pity spare;
Let no man wake me more!

I SING not Love prose-mated
With Pride or Sense, soon sated,
Where give and take are rated
In terms of bargain-buyer;
Nor Love that sells her dearly
For so much shelter yearly,
As Cupid's torch were merely
To light the kitchen fire;

Nor Love that lingers, longing,
In reasoned absence, wronging
The soul's desires, thronging
As pleading angels bend;
Nor Love that never misses
The mate's estrangèd kisses,
And is, of former blisses,
Content to keep—a friend;

Nor prudish Love repressive

one of our brassy beefeaters
in grandstand on the continent
bares biceps to the gaping millions
sinks shaft in market
pockets wheat
holds cornucopia of cash

cheers heard before his private front
as he lands place with notables

we call this tribute in a nutshell,
a miracle of entertainment

Speaking of beaus sartorial,
perplexed young girl hands laugh to love-wise:
“I am a lovely irresistible girl
of seventeen with wondrous witching orbs.”

Why do I blaze in my intangibles

CXXXII

Lo, what it is to love!
Learn ye, that list to prove,
At me, I say,
No ways that may
The grounded grief remove.
My life alway
That doth decay —
Lo, what it is to love!

Flee alway from the snare.
Learn by me to beware
Of such a train
Which doubles pain.
And endless woe and care
That doth retain,
Which to refrain
Flee alway from the snare.

To love and to be wise!
To rage with good advice!
Now thus, now then,
Now off, now on,
Uncertain as the dice!

Faith spread her wings to seek the realms of day;
Unfathomable depths before her lay.
Hope drooped beside her, as there stretched afar,
Space beyond space, outreaching endlessly,
The faintest gleam of the remotest star.
Her heart grew faint, her wings flagged heavily;
Vain seemed the quest, and endless seemed the way.

Then Love cried out, with voice that pierced the night:
“Lo, I am here!” and straight all space was light;
Darkness had vanished, and the weary way
Was all forgotten in the vision bright—