love poetry

O Source divine and Life of all,
The Fount of being's fearful sea,
Thy depth would every heart appall,
That saw not Love supreme in thee!

We shrink before thy vast abyss,
Where worlds on worlds eternal brood;
We know thee truly but in this,—
That thou bestowest all our good.

And so, 'mid boundless time and space,
O grant us still in thee to dwell,
And through thy ceaseless web to trace
Thy presence working all things well!

Nor let thou life's delightful play
Thy truth's transcendent vision hide;

'Twas He, who once descending from the Height
Of heavenly Bliss, assum'd our mortal Clay;
That, cloth'd in human Flesh, and in our Stead,
He, our kind Surety, might discharge the Debt,
The dreadful Debt we ow'd, and on Himself
Transfer the Vengeance of the threatening Law,
The Guilt of Man, and Sin's dire Punishment
See, prostrate on the Ground, forlorn He lies,
On the cold Grass diffus'd; His guiltless Hands
Towards His own Heaven, uplifted; and his Face
Placid and mild, turn'd to His Father's Seat,

“L OVE is eternal,” sang I long ago
Of some light love that lasted for a day;
But when the fleeting fancy passed away,
And other loves, that following made as though
They were the very deathless, lost the glow
Youth mimics the divine with, and grew gray,
I said, “It is a dream: no love will stay.”
Angels have taught me wisdom. Now I know,
Though lesser loves and greater loves may cease,
Love still endures, knocking at myriad gates
That lead to God—stars, winds and waters, birds,

When worn and tired with toil and care,
I homeward wheel my way,
A thought dispels my dark despair
And lights the homeward way;
A vision fair far up the street
With straining eyes I see—
I hurry then my love to meet—
I know she waits for me.

She waits for me, my love, my own,
She greets me with a smile,
I hear again her tender tone,
It shortens every mile
She waits for me, because, you see,
Like lightning she can go—
At every turn she waits for me—
I ride so awful slow!

A silver birch dances at my window.
The faint clouds dimly seen
On the sloped azure are easy to be scattered
When full day's wind sweeps clean.

Call to walk comes as of true nature,
Easy should the body move.
And poetry comes after eight miles' seeking,
Mere right out of mere love.

I WOKE : she had been standing by,
With wonder on her face.
She came toward me, very bright,
As from a blessed place.

She touched me not, but smiling spoke,
And softly as before.
“They gave me drink from some slow stream;
I love thee now no more.”

S HE'S not so fair as many there
But she's as loved as any,
And few you'll find with such a mind
Or such a heart as Nannie:
A maiden grace, a modest face,
A smile to win us ever;
And, she has sense—without pretence—
And good as she is clever!
She's not so fine as some may shine
With feathers, pearls, and laces;
But oh, she's got, what they have not
With all their borrowed graces,
Eyes blue and bright with heaven's light,
That kindle with devotion;
A cheek of rose, a heart that glows

Beyond the lifted clouds the dark sweeps by,
The stars grow dim in more abundant light,
The paling moon shines faintly down the sky,
And journeys slowly with the ghost of night.
The sun, still hidden like a frightened fawn,
Sheds virgin gleams about the golden feast
Of nature at the freshing fount of dawn—
There is a new day browsing in the east.
O were the dawn a happy herald's song
Of love that capers to the beck of Youth!
O were the day a gladdened chord among
These hollow echoes of a naked truth!

O love, my love, thou 'rt in the passing crowd,
But none shall see thee save the eyes that burn;
O love, my love, thou singest long and loud,
But none shall hear thee save the ears that yearn.
O love, my love, thou 'rt in the solitude
Of foam-crest oceans and the tangled wood,
But none shall know thee in thy changing mood,
Save minds deep-nurtured in the heart's dark flood.
O love, my love, thou 'rt in the blue-girt sky,
And bound in murmurs of the sighing breeze,
But none shall feel thy lilting melody,

Gray veils of dusk bestrewed with purple threads
Hold earth, a-fevered, in their soothing power.
Soft coronals of twilight round our heads,
Silent we sit and dream this holy hour.
Night-winds are stirring thru the stately pines,
Shrouded in shadows 'gainst the star-lit sky;
Night-birds are singing in the fragrant vines,
Soft to their mates an eery lover's cry.
'Tis then I see thee most, and seeing love thee,
Knowing the dusk but beauty's trailing gown;
'Tis then I feel and know the stars above thee,