love poetry

The moon dips low and the stars grow dim.
In the tower, a lovely girl sleeps in sweet abandon.
Her radiant hair falls tousled.
Her pillow glistens with tears.
It is quiet within the screens.

The sudden cry of the cuckoo shatters love's tender dream
A pale shimmer lights the east as she first awakens.
A thin mist covers the willows.
The flowers are heavy with dew.
Her thoughts become unbearable.

Flower of the May!
What shall I do to make her forget me?
She is so sad that should be so gay.

Ah, jessamine flower!
I toucht her hand and it set me on fire:
What would her lips do for power?

O scarlet sorrel—
She that I love hath so pretty a rage
I love her wildest when she and I quarrel.

Honey of lime!
Loving is easy; but how to end loving!
Ah, that is harder than rhyme!

Wild purple heather,
You who have lain in her bosom this morn
Lie now in mine, and link us together.

1. Come all my fair ones, Come, all my dear ones, Come and
lis ten unto me. “Could you fancy a jolly
sailor lad That has just come from sea? Could you
fancy a jolly sailor lad That has just come from sea?”

2 “No, I dislike them,
No, I despise them,
For they smell so much of tar!
So begone, you sassy sailor lad,
So begone, you Jack tar.”

3 “I have ships on the ocean, love,
I have money in my pocket, love,
I have gold in great store
I would give to a poor country girl
If she would wed Jack Tar.”

This shrine a precious gift enfolds;
Look, when its lids unclose,
Not on the shining cross it holds,
But on the love it shows.

What though the silvered brow may seem
Amid the youthful throng
A little farther down the stream
That bears us all along;

Those murmuring waves are mute today,
The stream forgets to run,
The brown locks mingle with the gray,
And all our hearts are one.

Ah, could we bring earth's sweetestsong
And bear its brightest gold,
The gift our grateful hearts would wrong,

My God, to do thy will
Caged I can rejoice;
Hearken to my voice:
[']Tis my election still:
Direct my choice,
My God, to do thy will.

I sing the live day long,
Lord, thyself, to please:
Extreme miseries
But make my love more strong;
No one near to tease
I sing the live day long[.]

Thou understandest, Lord,
Syllables of love,
Wise men know not of,
Within the chaste heart stored
Speech all speech above:
Thou understandest, Lord.

Freedom my soul doth fill
Though I am a slave:

You tell me that another has your heart,
And that until this time you have not known
What love is. And a wedded pair must part
Because an earlier, lesser love has flown.

You tell me this, and I say go your way
And read the answer in the coming years.
Were Wisdom's very self to bid you stay
Her words would fall on unattending ears.

I am not Wisdom's self, but this you'll learn:
New love is never rooted as the old;
And the old passion will revive and burn
Before the ashes of the new are cold.

Silver stars above me,
Sun above me, shine!
Lady, if you love me,
Be my valentine.

And, my dear, if in you
Leaps no answering flame,
Those things will continue
Shining just the same.

Silver stars above me,
Sun above me, shine!
Lady, if you love me,
Be my valentine.

And, my dear, if in you
Leaps no answering flame,
Those things will continue
Shining just the same.

A word was spoken—a breath of frost
Struck love with an icy chill;
Two hearts went limping, joy was lost
And wandered lone on a tempest hill.
The flowers of the soul their petals shed;
Music was silent and art fell dead.

COME , Holy Spirit! Come, enflame
Our lukewarm Hearts with sacred Fire:
May all our Passions, to Thy Name,
In Transports most refin'd, aspire.

May Love sublime our Hearts possess,
From every selfish Mixture free,
Fir'd with the Charms of Holiness,
The Beauty of Divinity.

We see the Beauty of Thy Grace,
That saves rebellious Worms from Hell:
But ah! the Charms of Holiness
We dimly see, and faintly feel.

Selfish and mercenary Views
Are with our purest Passions mixt:
A nobler Passion, Oh! infuse,

Elvira, by love's grace
There goeth before you
A clear radiance
Which maketh all vain souls
Candles when noon is.

The loud clangor of pretenders
Melteth before you
Like the roll of carts passing,
But you come silently
And homage is given.

Now the little by-path
Which leadeth to love
Is again joyful with its many;
And the great highway
From love
Is without passers.