love poetry

Dear friend, sit down: the tale is long and sad,
And in my faintings I presume your love
Will more comply than help. A lord I had,
And have, of whom some grounds which may improve,
I hold for two lives, and both lives in me.
To him I brought a dish of fruit one day,
And in the middle placed my heart. But he
(I sigh to say)
Looked on a servant, who did know his eye
Better than you know me, or (which is one)
Than I my self. The servant instantly
Quitting the fruit, seized on my heart alone,
And threw it in a font, wherein did fall

Immortal Heat, O let thy greater flame
Attract the lesser to it: let those fires,
Which shall consume the world, first make it tame;
And kindle in our hearts such true desires,
As may consume our lusts, and make thee way.
Then shall our hearts pant thee; then shall our brain
All her invention on thine Altar lay,
And there in hymns send back thy fire again:
Our eyes shall see thee, which before saw dust;
Dust blown by wit, till that they both were blind:
Thou shalt recover all thy goods in kind,

Immortal Love, author of this great frame,
Sprung from that beauty which can never fade;
How hath man parcelled out thy glorious name,
And thrown it on that dust which thou hast made,
While mortal love doth all the title gain!
Which siding with invention, they together
Bear all the sway, possessing heart and brain
(Thy workmanship), and give thee share in neither.
Wit fancies beauty, beauty raiseth wit:
The world is theirs; they two play out the game,
Thou standing by: and though thy glorious name

Thy lovely cheek, God guard it From th' evil eye! prays Hafiz;
For wrought it hath to-us-ward All manner good, says Hafiz.

Come; 'tis the time of concord And faith-keeping and friendship:
That which hath past between us From mem'ry's book raze, Hafiz.

What though my lip have drunken Thy heart's blood? Take to bloodwit
A kiss, which all thou'st suffered (And more than all) pays, Hafiz.

Nay, who art thou to cherish The hope of her enjoyment?
Upon her skirts no beggar, God wot, the hand lays, Hafiz.

Since ye have banished Beauty from my soul,
I wander in a faint and drear amaze;
Gone are the ancient, the familiar ways,
Strained the fine bonds of sufferance and control.

The utterness of sorrow none can know
Who have one help, assured, tho' distant far;
One fiery love, concentred to a star—
Night should be sombre that such stars may show.

They venture evil that they little guess,
Who hide that shining mercy from our eyes;
What though it mark a dreamer's paradise?
It is a world 'twixt us and nothingness.

When the mists of the twilight
Day's glories displace;
Like a delicate veil
O'er a beautiful face:
When the breath of the roses
First mingles with ours;
And the spirit of Love
Is awake 'mid the flowers:
When starlight and twilight
In Night's bosom meet,
Oh, Love hath no moment,
No meeting so sweet!

When a shade of dejection,
Like twilight appears;
And the cheek of affection
Is star-like with tears!
When the voice of emotion
First trembles to prove
Its truth and devotion—

The Lord is in his Holy Place
In all things near and far:
Shekinah of the snow-flake, he,
And Glory of the star,
And Secret of the April land
That stirs the field to flowers,
Whose little tabernacles rise
To hold him through the hours.

He hides himself within the love
Of those whom we love best;
The smiles and tones that make our homes
Are shrines by him possessed;
He tents within the lonely heart,
And shepherds every thought;
We find him not by seeking long,—
We lose him not, unsought.

That seeking Prelude found its unforetold
Unguessed intention, trend;
Though needing no fulfilment, did enfold
This exquisite end.

Bach led his notes up through their delicate slope
Aspiring, so they sound,
And so they were, in some strange ignorant hope
Thus to be crowned.

What deep soft seas beneath this buoyant barque!
What winds to speed this bird!
What impulses to toss this heavenward lark!
Thought—then the word.

Lovely the tune, lovely the unconsciousness
Of him who promised it.

He was a boy when first we met
His eyes were mixed of dew and fire
And on his candid brow was set
The sweetness of a chaste desire.
But in his Veins the pulses beat
Of passion waiting, for its wing,
As ardent veins of summer heat
Throb through the innocence of spring.

As manhood came, his stature grew,
And fiercer burned his restless eyes
Until I trembled, as he drew
From wedded hearts their young disguise.
Like wind-fed flame his ardor rose
And brought, like flame, a stormy rain:

A sad sweet song at even-tide
Came from the neighb'ring grove;
It was no song of sorrow, nor was it a lay of love,
It was no song of sorrow,
Nor was it a lay of love.
'Twas but a pretty Robin's trill,
With melancholy strain,
Among the leafy branches sung.
They said, portending rain
Among the leafy branches sung, they said, portending rain
The sky was bright with rosy red
And dusky mists were hanging low;
Than that sweet song at even-tide,
No sweeter sadder song we know.