love poetry

Thou hast pearls and diamonds in plenty,
All things on which hearts set store,
And thine eyes are the very brightest—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

In praise of those brightest eyes, love,
I have written sonnets galore,
A host of immortal verses—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

With those brightest eyes thou hast brought me
An endless heartache sore,
Thou hast ruined me, soul and body—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

Blue sapphires are those eyes of thine,
So innocent, my sweeting;
And ah! thrice happy is the man
To whom they give Love's greeting.

Thy heart it is a diamond
That fires divine hath captured;
And ah! thrice happy is the man
For whom it glows enraptured.

Red rubies are those lips of thine,
Lovely beyond expression;
And ah! thrice happy he to whom
They make Love's sweet confession.

Oh that I knew the happy man!
That I might find him wending
His lonely way thro' the green wood—

In my life's deep gloom and darkness
Once a lovely form shed light;
Now that lovely form has vanished,
I am all enwrapped in night.

Just as children's spirits falter
If they're kept in darkness long;
And to drive away their terror
They set up some noisy song.

I, an untrained child, am singing
Loudly in the darkness here;
If the song be not melodious,
It has freed me from my fear.

No—your tepid and your vapid
Soul could not, I know, obey
My love's torrent, fierce and rapid
That through rocks could force its way.

Love's high-road for you's best sorted,
I can see you walking there,
On your husband's arm supported—
With good hopes of coming heir.

He who for the first time loves,
Albeit hopeless, is a god.
But for him whose love is hopeless,
Once again—he is a fool.

I am such a fool, and hopeless
Love once more, no true love winning;
Sun and moon and stars are laughing,
I am laughing too—and dying.

They loved one another, yet neither
Would tell the other so;
With love they were almost heartbroken,
Yet each looked on each as a foe.

They parted at last—and sometimes,
Though only in dreams, they met;
They had long been dead, those lovers,
But themselves searce knew it yet.

They think that I'm heart-broken
With lover's grief profound,
And at last I myself believe it
Like all the world around.

Small child with big eyes, bethink thee,
Did I not always say
That I never could tell how I loved thee,
That love ate my heart away?

But alone in my chamber only
Did I dare to utter such cry;
Alas! I was always silent,
Whenever thou wast by.

For then there were evil angels
By whom I was tongue-tied too;
And alas! there are evil angels
Who still are working me woe.

The years are coming and going,
Generations sleep 'neath the grass,
But the love that burns within me
Will surely never pass.

Once more would I behold thee,
And as on my knee I fell,
With my latest breath would I tell thee,
“Madam, I love you well.”

I stood and stared at her portrait
With fixed and dreamy pain,
And the well-loved face most strangely
Began to live again.

About her lips was playing
The wonder of her smile;
And with tears of love and yearning
Her eyes were bright the while.

My tears began to gather,
And down my cheeks flowed free.
And oh! I cannot yet believe
That thou art lost to me.

Ah, Lily, I love thee so madly
As thou standest in dreams mid the grass,
And look'st in the streamlet so sadly,
And murmurest “Ah” and “Alas.”

Away with thy love and thy coaxing,
I know how deceitful thou art!
Thy tenderest words are but hoaxing,
For my cousin, the Rose, has thy heart.