love poetry

My heart! my pulse! my flame!
O the gloom, O the pain!
He has no wish to save me
Who will not come again.

Love! Love! Love!
The fair cheek, the dark hair,
The promise forgotten;
'Twill go with me there.

False! false! false!
O, youth is false for ever:
He loves far more than living me—
The lifeless heather.

The hunting field,
The greenwood tree,
The trout, the running deer, he loves,
Far more than me.

He loves—loves—loves
To stalk the frightened doe;

Dear, we have sat with Beauty, you and I,
And trembled with a thought of viewless things,
So fleet, so frail, so seeming-sure to die,
Yet strong with wonder of ethereal wings;

Have sat in trance to Loveliness, with Love
Beside us, in a precious pact of three:
Love, loveliness and you—it sounds above
All earthly discords, like a song to me!


And though we transiently are driven apart,
And absence is an ache and an alloy;
We carry that shy music in our heart,
And we return to find but deeper joy.

Go, idle boy, I quit thy power,
Thy couch of many a thorn and flower,
Thy twanging bow, thine arrow keen,
Deceitful Beauty's timid mien;
The feign'd surprise, the roguish leer,
The tender smile, the thrilling tear,
Have now no pangs—no joys for me,
So, fare thee well, for I am free!
Then flutter hence on wanton wing,
Or lave thee in yon lucid spring,
Or take thy beverage from the rose,
Or on Louisa's breast repose,
I wish thee well for pleasures past,
Yet bless the hour I'm free at last!

Time was when Love's dear ways I used to know—
That time's at end, and Love has passed me by:
Be merciful, dear God, and let me die—
How can I lift my head from this last blow?

I cannot bear this life whence Faith has fled—
This jostling world in which I walk alone—
Where through long, lonesome nights old memories moan,
With human voices, that the dead is dead.

I cannot bear to meet the day's cold eyes—
The lonesome nights are bitter with my tears—
Shuddering I face the empty hideous years,

The Man, whose lady-love is virgin Truth,
Must woo a lady that is hard to win:
She smiles not on the wild and wordy din
Of all-confiding, all-protesting Youth;
The Sceptic's apathy; the garb uncouth,
And Cynic sneer of o'er-experienced Sin,
The Serpent, writhing in its worn-out skin,
Craving again to flesh its sated tooth,
She quite abhors. She is not fond, nor coy—
Self-seeking love, and self-appraising scorn,
She knows not. She hath utterly forsworn,
Her worldly dower of wealth, and pride, and joy—

(My God) who dids't thy glorious throne forsake,
And from a Virgin pure thy manhood take,
That Thou, thereby mights't us thy brethren make:
Was ever love like thine?

Both Men, and Angells, at thy birth did sing,
And thy propicious starre did tideings bring,
That Night departed, and the day did spring:
Was ever love &c.

Though by the Fathers side, thou well mighs't clayme
The whole worlds empire, yet thou didst not ayme
At soveraignty, which makes us to exclayme:
Was ever love &c.

If you will tell me what love is for,
If you will tell me why the one man and the one woman are for each other,
If you will tell me why bodies may be thousands of miles apart and may not meet but why love that is just as far apart may meet at will,
If you will tell me why dreams of lovers that may never come true in the flesh still come true somehow,
If you will tell me why nothing can stay love from love's purpose, nothing in seas or lands or laws,
If you will tell me why a dream of love will thrill you like the flesh of love itself,

I have an appointment with God:
And whatever is missed that has to be kept:
And though all was missed—the very globe itself, the skies: though that was missed:
Though all love was missed—and my neighbors and family and success were missed: though they were all missed:
I must be on the right spot at the time fixed for me: must be there body and soul:
In day or night, in sunshine or storm, in life or death, I must be there:
To take up my note with God in person: (no emissary could assume my place):

The melody of birds is in her voice.
The lake is not more crystal than her eyes,
In whose brown depths her soul still sleeping lies.
With her soft curls the passionate zephyr toys,
And whispers in her ear of coming joys.
Upon her breast red rosebuds fall and rise,
Kissing her snowy throat, and, lover-wise,
Breathing forth sweetness till the fragrance cloys.

Sometimes she thinks of love, but, oftener yet,
Wooing but wearies her, and love's warm phrase
Repels and frightens her. Then, like the sun

I will early seek the Saviour,
I will learn of him each day;
I will follow in his footsteps,
I will seek the narrow way.
I will hasten where he bids me,
I am not to young to go
In the path-way where he leadeth,
Not to young his will to know.
He is standing at the doorway
Of escape from ev'ry sin;
I will knock, for he has promised
He will hear and let me in

For he loves me, yes, he loves me,
Jesus loves me, this I know;
Jesus loves me, died to save me,
This is why I love him so.