love poetry

Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing,
As sweet unto a shepherd as a king,
And sweeter too;
For kings have cares that wait upon a crown,
And cares can make the sweetest love to frown.
Ah then, ah then,
If country loves such sweet desires gain,
What lady would not love a shepherd swain?

His flocks are folded, he comes home a night,
As merry as a king in his delight,
And merrier too;
For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds careless carol by the fire.
Ah then, ah then,

Oft have I heard my lief Corydon report on a love-day,
When bonny maids do meet with the swains in the valley by Tempe,
How bright eyed his Phyllis was, how lovely they glanced,
When fro th'arches ebon black, flew looks as a lightning,
That set afire with piercing flames even hearts adamantine:
Face rose hued, cherry red, with a silver taint like a lily.
Venus' pride might abate, might abash with a blush to behold her.
Phoebus' wires compar'd to her hairs unworthy the praising.
Juno's state, and Pallas' wit disgrac'd with the Graces,

When first thou camest, gentle, shy, and fond,
My eldest-born, first hope, and dearest treasure,
My heart received thee with a joy beyond
All that it yet had felt of earthly pleasure—
Nor thought that any love again might be
So deep and strong as that I felt for thee.

Dear father and dear mother: Let me crave
Your loving kindness there beyond the grave
For my Erotion, the pretty maid
Who bears these lines. Don't let her be afraid!
She's such a little lassie--only six--
To toddle down that pathway to the Styx
All by herself! Black shadows haunt those steeps
And Cerberus the Dread who never sleeps,
May she be comforted, and may she play
About you merry as the livelong day,
And in her childish prattle often tell
Of that old master whom she loved so well.

It was the very noon of night: the stars above the fold,
More sure than clock or chiming bell, the hour of mid-night told:
When from the heav'ns there came a voice, and forms were seen to shine
Still bright'ning as the music rose with light and love divine.
With love divine, the song began; there shone a light serene:
O, who hath heard what I have heard, or seen what I have seen?

O ne'er could nightingale at dawn salute the rising day
With sweetness like that bird of song in his immortal lay:

My heart is sad and wae, mither,
To leave my native land—
Its bonnie glens—its hills sae blue—
Its memory hallow'd strand—
The friends I've lo'ed sae lang and weel—
The hearts that feel for me:
But, mither, mair than a' I grieve
At leavin' thee.

The hand that saft my bed has made
When I was sick and sair,
Will carefully my pillow lay
And haud my head nae mair.
The een that sleeplessly could watch
When I was in my pain,
Will ne'er for me, from night to dawn,
E'er wake again.

When early shades of evening's close
The air with solemn darkness fill,
Before the moonlight softly throws
Its fairy mantle o'er the hill,
A sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.

The Nightingale unto the rose
Its tale of love may fondly trill;
No love-tale this—'tis grief that flows
With pain that never can be still.
The sad sound goes
In plaintive thrill;
Who hears it knows
The Whip-poor-will.

Repeated oft, it never grows
Familiar, but is sadder still,

I HAVE lost her, my loved one—
My heart is nigh broken.
As a mother her baby
So loved I my darling;
So would I have given
My loved one, my loved one, my heart!

I sit by the window
And think “Would she wed me!”
If she knew all my passion
As a mother her baby,
So would she have loved me,
And given her heart.

Outside of her garden
I wait for her coming
Though cometh she never—
Alas, now I know it,
She careth not for me
And mocketh at love!

He stands where the young faces pass and throng;
His blank eyes tremble in the noonday sun:
He sees all life, the lovely and the strong,
Before him run.

Eager and swift, or grouped and loitering, they
Follow their dreams, on busy errands sped,
Planning delight and triumph; but all day
He shakes his head.

He stands where the young faces pass and throng;
His blank eyes tremble in the noonday sun:
He sees all life, the lovely and the strong,
Before him run.

Eager and swift, or grouped and loitering, they

The east unrolled a sheet of gold,
Gold for river and flower and limb;
As Helen once to Paris was
Was I to him.

All things gold fade gray and old,
Even the sun of love grows dim;
As Helen now to Paris is