love poetry

Gazing on my idol-treasure,
All my soul is lost in joy;
She affords eternal pleasure,
And can never, never cloy.

Ev'ry motion, ev'ry feature
Shines with such peculiar grace;
Never, sure, was human creature
Blest with such an angel's face.

TO HENRY .

?A ND has that heart, unmoved so long
?By beauty, softness, wit, and song,
At length been taught love's pleasing pains to feel?
Ah! no;....I fear, not e'en Amanda's charms
Have in thy breast waked passion's fond alarms:
But let my verse love's genuine signs reveal,....
And if your blushes answering symptoms prove,
Then will I own that you have learnt to love.
?If with confusion's deepening red
?Your manly cheek be not o'erspread
Whene'er by chance you hear Amanda's name,....

1. Oh, Mexico, my Mexico, Heave away, Santy
Anno! Oh, Mexico, my Mexico, All along
the plains of Mexico.
2 The ladies there, oh, I do adore,
3 Where I began my lifelong store.
4 Now, the girls are pretty with their long black hair.
5 Oh, in Mexico where I do belong,
6 I've found my señora right there!
7 Now, Mexico, you know what you are.
Oh, Mexico, well you know what you are.
8 You've loved me dear and you've taught me well!
9 Now, I'd love to be in Sannajooves tonight.
10 Now, really it seems only to be, etc.

‘Here in the window beaming across
Is he—the lineaments like him so!—
The saint whose name I do not know,
With the holy robe and the cheek aglow.
Here will I kneel as if worshipping God
When all the time I am worshipping you,
Whose Love I was—
You that with me will nevermore tread anew
The paradise-paths we trod!’

She came to that prominent pew each day,
And sat there. Zealously she came
And watched her Love—looking just the same
From the rubied eastern tracery-frame—
The man who had quite forsaken her

I love one, and he loveth me:
Who sayeth this? who deemeth this?
And is this thought a cause of bliss,
Or source of misery?

The loved may die, or he may change:
And if he die thou art bereft;
Or if he alter, nought is left
Save life that seemeth strange.

A weary life, a hopeless life,
Full of all ill and fear-oppressed;
A weary life that looks for rest
Alone after death's strife.

And love's joy hath no quiet even;
It evermore is variable.
Its gladness is like war in Hell,

Because I feel that I cannot forget,
I think thee, Lord!—Because for ever now
My eyes will meet the sinless eyes I met,
And see the dark hair shade a sinless brow:

Because, though she is dead,—aye, dead in shame,
Polluted through the villany of one
Who, lusting, did in love's dishonoured name
The meanest deed that ever on earth was done;

Because, though she be lost, she for whose sake
I would have gone with singing to my tomb,
I think of her … as even the ice-bound lake

These fresh beauties (we can prove)
Once were Virgins sick of love,
Turn'd to Flowers. Still in some
Colours goe, and colours come.

Oh , no—not even when first we loved,
?Wert thou as dear as now thou art;
Thy beauty then my senses moved,
?But now thy virtues bind my heart.
What was but Passion's sigh before,
?Has since been turned to Reason's vow;
And, though I then might love thee more ,
?Trust me, I love thee better now.
Altho' my heart in earlier youth
?Might kindle with more wild desire,
Believe me, it has gained in truth
?Much more than it has lost in fire.
The flame now warms my inmost core,
?That then but sparkled o'er my brow,

I

SHE sang of Love so loud and long
?That when one day he came to call
She was so busy with her song
?She did not hear him knock at all;
And aShe left, unrecognized,
He looked exceedingly surprised.
II

Searching for Love, the distance o'er
?She scanned the high and starry way,
And never knew that by her door
?He greeted her, say, thrice a day,
Because he wore, ah! hapless one,
The aspect of her neighbour's son.
III

About her everywhere she saw
Love's double breaking love and law,

BEGIN A BALLAD ON IT

The wind is weary, the world is wan;
?(Oh, lone, lank lilies and long, lean loves)
My shield is shed, my armor is gone,
And Virtue is all I depend upon.
( My lily ,
?My lissome lily, my languid love.)
Full thirteen days have I walked with woe,
?(Oh dear, dead days and divine desires)
And wolves may follow where'er I go,
But nothing shall stop my song's sweet flow.
( My lily ,
?My love, my delirious, dark desire.)
The night is old and threadbare and thin,
?(Oh limpid lily, oh labial love)