love poetry

Shoals of fish assemble and scatter,
Suddenly there is no trace of them.

The single butterfly comes—
Goes—
Comes—
Returning as though urged by love.

Oh, for 'is heart is like the sea, Ever hopen, brave an'
free, And his girl must lonely be, Till 'is ship comes
back. But if love's the best of all, What can a man befall?
For every girl at all, They all love Jack!

Is there anybody here who loves my Jesus?
Anybody here who loves my Lord?
I want to know if you love my Jesus;
I want to know if you love my Lord.

This world's a wilderness of woe,
So let us all to glory go.
Religion is a blooming rose,
And none but them who feel it know.

When I was blind and could not see,
King Jesus brought the light to me.

When ev'ry star refuses to shine,
I know King Jesus will be mine.

Wert thou by all Affections sought,
And fairer then thou wouldst be thought:
Or had thine Eyes as many Darts
As thou believ'st they shoot at Hearts,
Yet if thy Love were paid to me,
I would not offer mine to thee.

Ide sooner court a Feavers heat,
Then her that owns a Flame as great;
She that my Love will entertain,
Must meet it with no lesse disdain.
For mutual Fires themselves destroy,
And willing Kisses yield no Joy.
I love thee not because alone
Thou canst all Beauty call thine own,

He's dead

the dog won't have to
sleep on his potatoes
any more to keep them
from freezing

he's dead
the old bastard—
He's a bastard because

there's nothing
legitimate in him any
more
he's dead

He's sick-dead


he's
a godforsaken curio
without
any breath in it

He's nothing at all
he's dead

Shrunken up to skin
Put his head on
one chair and his
feet on another and
he'll lie there
like an acrobat—

Love's beaten. He

THE STORM-FLOWER BLOOMS BY THE OUTER MOAT
OF MY CASTLE OF LOVE, WHILE THE PERILOUS RAIN
SHRIEKS AND BEATS AT THE GRANITE WALLS ,
AT THE DOORS, AT EACH THICK WINDOW-PANE
BUT IN THE KEEP, STILL, STILL, AND DEEP
MY SWEET LOVE WAITS IN IVORY ROOMS :
SHE WEARS NEW SILK FROM FAIRY LOOMS :
OUR LIPS BURN SWEETLY, WITHOUT FEAR :
OUR NEST IS STILL. I HEAR HER SIGH.—
AND WHAT CARE I. IF THE STORM-FLOWER BLOOMS!

I love the little pond to mark at spring
When frogs & toads are croaking round its brink
When blackbirds yellow bills gin first to sing
& green woodpecker rotten trees to clink
I love to see the cattle muse & drink
& water crinkle to the rude march wind
While two ash dotterels flourish on its brink
Bearing key bunches children run to find
& water buttercups they're forced to leave behind.

My love she wore a muslin cap and trim[m] ed wi' ribbons blue
What time the trees were full o' sap and meadows cowslips new
In meadows and on meadow banks in baulks and clover too
The white horse daisy's stand in ranks all silvered wi' the dew

My love she wore a pleasant gown and owned a rosy face
The prettiest girl o' half the town the finest i' the place
Her waist was sweet and sweet her size fleshy and fair not tall
Bright as the milkmaids were her eyes her neck white as the wall

Love is a sirrup; and who er'e we see
Sick and surcharg'd with this sacietie:
Shall by this pleasing trespasse quickly prove,
Ther's loathsomnesse e'en in the sweets of love.

Maidens tell me I am old;
Let me in my Glasse behold
Whether smooth or not I be,
Or if haire remaines to me.
Well, or be't or be't not so,
This for certainty I know;
Ill it fits old men to play,
When that Death bids come away.