love poetry

a shooting star—
in love with someone, not knowing
where it will lead me

Can you forego me? Treat me like a thing
More trivial than a flower, and less dear?
Think for a while. Can you forego the spring,
Forfeit the one mad weather of the year?
I press between you and each yesterday;
Smelling of wind, of white brier in the dew,
From the grave's edge, and from the shrill, trodden way,
I that am ghost, reach to the ghost in you.
Foregoing spring, you thus can forego me,
And bare of me, of spring you shall go bare.
Leave me or choose me. Yet it matters not.
I shall possess you as the root the tree;

In vain a thousand slaves have try'd
To overcome Clarinda's pride;
Pity pleading,
Love persuading,
When her icy heart is thaw'd
Honour chides, and straight she 's aw'd.

Foolish creature! follow Nature,
Waste not thus your prime;
Youth 's a treasure,
Love 's a pleasure,
Both destroy'd by Time.

Little mouse:
Are you
some rat's little child?
I won't love you if you are.

Keep you these calm and lovely things,
And float them on your clearest water;
For one would not disgrace a King's
Transformed, beloved and buoyant daughter.

And with her goes this sprightly swan,
A bird of more than royal feather,
With alban beauty clothed upon:
O keep them fair and well together!

As fair as was that doubled Bird,
By love of Leda so besotten,
That she was all with wonder stirred,
And the Twin Sportsmen were begotten!

They spake me fair and said: “Forgo this pain,
This grief of love.” They counselled me in vain;
Loving my grief, I count it little gain
With grief to part.

I never thought to give in such meek wise
My heart away to one whose distant eyes
Scorn my salutes, nor see me with surprise
Standing apart.

O hard of heart, give back the life I gave
In greeting to thee,—greet me, thou, and save
Me, weary for thy presence, from the grave,
O hard of heart!

She smiles and smiles, and will not sigh,
While we for hopeless passion die;
Yet she could love, those eyes declare,
Were but men nobler than they are.

Eagerly once her gracious ken
Was turned upon the sons of men;
But light the serious visage grew—
She looked, and smiled, and saw them through.

Our petty souls, our strutting wits,
Our labored, puny passion-fits—
Ah, may she scorn them still, till we
Scorn them as bitterly as she!

Yet show her once, ye heavenly Powers,
One of some worthier race than ours!

I am the first that ever lov'd,
He yet that for the place contends
Against true love so much offends,
That even this way it is prov'd.

For whose affection once is shown,
No longer can the World beguile,
Who see his pennance all the while,
He holds a Torch to make her known.

You are the first were ever lov'd,
And who may think this not so true,
So little knows of love or you,
It need not otherwise be prov'd.

For though the more judicious eyes
May know when Diamonds are right,

Tarry sweete love,
harke how the winds doe murmure at your Flyghte.
See how the trees in order growe,
the coole earth shodoinge belowe;
see the wanton streames how they playe by the banke side.
Then Stay in hope my lighte, my Joye, my life, my soule;
heere may you safe abide.

A WORLD of workers—
Thinkers, builders,
Dreamers, artists,
Writers—workers all;
A vast pulsating host
Of great endeavor—
Working out the Master's plan;
Toiling, sweating,
Grieving—singing,
Playing—resting,
Young or old, weak or strong;
Vainly striving only
Where no love pulsates
From the throbbing Heart of God.