love poetry

Poets make pets of pretty, docile words:
I love smooth words, like gold-enameled fish
Which circle slowly with a silken swish,
And tender ones, like downy-feathered birds:
Words shy and dappled, deep-eyed deer in herds,
Come to my hand, and playful if I wish,
Or purring softly at a silver dish,
Blue Persian kittens, fed on cream and curds.
I love bright words, words up and singing early;
Words that are luminous in the dark, and sing;
Warm lazy words, white cattle under trees;
I love words opalescent, cool, and pearly,

Surely and swiftly cometh the dawn;
We cannot lie
Mothered by darkness and loved by the night,
For long, for long;
For strong, strong,
Uprises from shadowy caverns of slumber the morn.
Take the smile laid by
And wear it in daylight's garish sight;
Go on with the song,
And sing it till fades the evening light;
The night is the time to rest and sigh.

While he to whom her vexing thoughts still clung
Went wearily philandering on his way:
He tried them slightly worn, he tried them young,
He tried them sorrowful, he tried them gay.
He said, and thought, he had not loved before;
He shrined a picture on his memory-shelf;
And as each loved one left his closing door
He took grave counsel with his puzzled self:
“There is no love. We for a moment stand
And hold at bay inevitable pain,
Aghast and passionate, hand in eager hand,
Before we face our loneliness again.”

Come, for thy day, thy wasted day is closing,
With all its joy and sun:
Bright, loving hours have pass'd thee by unheeded;
Thy work on earth undone,
And all thy race unrun.

Folly and pleasure hast thou still been chasing
With the world's giddy throng,
Beauty and love have been thy golden idols;
And thou hast rush'd along,
Still list'ning to their song!

Sorrow and weeping thou hast cast behind thee,
For what were tears to thee?
Life was not life without the smile and sunshine
Only in revelry

On stillness came a chord,
While I, the instrument,
Knew long-withheld reward:
Gradual the glory went;
Vibrating, on and on,
Toward harmony unheard,
Till dark where sanctus shone;
Lost, once a living word.

But in me yet abode
The given grace though gone;
The love, the lifted load,
The answered orison.

Dear, since we both are held in Love's command,
Why all this idle speech and feigned surprise;
See, see how near, how breathless-close we stand—
Open thy eyes!

Dear, thou art grown so careful of thy grace,
Thou hoardest, like a miser, all thy charms;
Cease weighing every kiss and swift embrace,
Open thy arms.

Dear, I have gained thy heart but not thy side,
Now must the struggle end, and thou give o'er—
I am Love-crowned—I cannot be denied,
Open thy door!

I'm going to break out
of this poetry
that boxes me into
love
the sea
and a death
that never speaks of the smell.
Shamelessly I can tell you
I am sick
can no longer stand
not being able to say
that which when said
becomes a little
of what is not said

Oh wou'd some pitying Pow'r inlarge my View!
And teach me what to shun, and what pursue:
Love! prompts me forward, thro'a foreign Way,
But Tyrant Duty still commands my Stay:
Duty's a Guardian, which I must not lose;
Yet such a lambent Flame, who can refuse?
A Love so pure! so perfect! so intense!
So truly free from all Alloys of Sense,
As ev'n by dying Nuns might be confest,
And centre boldly in an Angel's Breast:
To keep this Love, I could my Life forego;
But losing it, I shall my Duty show.

1. O God whose presence glows in all Within, a-
2. That truth be with the heart believed, Of all who
round us, and above! Thy word we bless, thy
seek this sacred place; With power proclaimed, in
name we call, Whose word is truth, whose name is love.
peace received, Our spirits' light, thy Spirit's grace.

3. That love its holy influence pour,
To keep us meek and make us free,
And throw its binding blessing more
Round each with all, and all with thee.

4. Send down its angel to our side;
Send in its calm upon the breast;

When I am fretted to that wayward mood
Which urgeth me to shun the haunts of man
For serious silence and strict solitude,—
That passion spent, such solace as I can
(For instant loss of friends—from whom my rude,
Strange melancholy parts me) I take; and scan—
Half glad, half sad—wise Nature in her plan
And nice completions; and long time brood
Deeply and awfully, till some small theme
Or vast—the Robin's trill; the murmuring
Of mingling springs; the rushing of a stream,
Rapid and rough—or winds on their strong wing,