love poetry

"She was a lovely little ladye,
With blue eyes beaming sunnily;
And loved to carry charity
To the abodes of misery."

Wilt thou, because thy Florio loves,
Forsake the giddy glitt'ring throng,
With him to dwell in peaceful groves,
With him to hear the shepherd's song?

Can'st thou, without a sigh, resign
The homage by thy charms inspir'd?
To one, oh! say, can'st thou confine
What oft so many have admir'd?

Sweet maid! oh! bless'd shall be our love,
Till time shall bid it cease to flow;
With thee shall ev'ry moment prove
A little heaven form'd below!

Echo! thou sweet enchantress of the grove!
Oh! cease to answer to the tones of love;
Or teach my Delia in thine art divine,
Thou loveliest nymph! to hear and answer mine!

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife.
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.

Proud word you never spoke, but you will speak
Four not exempt from pride some future day.
Resting on one white hand a warm wet cheek
Over my open volume you will say,
'This man loved me!' then rise and trip away.

Tell me not things past all belief;
One truth in you I prove;
The flame of anger, bright and brief,
Sharpens the barb of Love.

Should'st thou find in thy travels a maid that is free,
And content to love nought in the wide world but thee;
With a face that is gentle--be 't dark or be 't fair;
And a brow that ne'er ceases good-temper to wear;
With a soul like a rosebud that's not yet unfurled--
All strange to the tricks and the ways of the world;
And a mind that would blush at its fanciful roam,
Should it dream there are spheres more delightful than home,
With a love that would love thee alone for thy sake
In bonds which adversity never could break.

I would my Love were not so fair
In sweet external beauty:
And dreamt less of her charms so rare,
And more of homely duty.
The rose that blooms in pudent pride
When pluckt will pout most sorely;
P'rhaps she I'm wooing for my bride
Will grow more self-willed hourly.
Her form might shame the graceful fay's;
Her face wears all life's graces:
But wayward thoughts and wayward ways
Make far from pretty faces.

I would my Love were not so fair
(I mean it when I breathe it):

The Head fell in love one day,
As young heads will oftentimes do;
What it felt I cannot say:
That is nothing to me nor to you:
But this much I know,
It made a great show
And told every friend it came near
If its idol should rove
It could ne'er again love,
No being on earth was so dear.

So Time, the fleet-footed, moved on,
And the Head knew not what to believe;
A whole fortnight its Love had been gone,
And it felt no desire to grieve.
Its passion so hot

'Tis pity, ev'ry maiden knows,
Just as she cools, Love warmer grows;
But, if the chill be too severe,
Trust me, he'll wither in a tear.

Thus will the spring-flow'r bud and blow,
Wrapp'd round in many a fold of snow;
But, if an ice-wind pierce the sky,
'Twill drop upon its bed, and die!