love poetry

She sang a song of death and battle,
Through which one heard the cannon roll.
They said, “O wondrous gift of fancy,
The glorious dower of poet-soul!”

She sang a song of love and passion—
Love's land, she sang, was very fair.
They said no more of wondrous fancy,
They said, “She lays her own heart bare.”

The years they come and go,
The races drop in the grave,
Yet never the love doth so
Which here in my heart I have.

Could I see thee but once, one day,
And sink down so on my knee,
And die in thy sight while I say,
“Lady, I love but thee!”

I have loved my land yet hailed it as a stranger
When birth-wracks wrecked me on a faerie shore:
I have kept the Faith yet hardly grasped it more
Than groping shepherds when they found the Manger.
I have loved my friends yet feared them more than foes
Lest they should ask the name God only knows;
And in long years of mating have been blest
Restlessly wondering why I was at rest.

The one
I glimpsed
is just so
hard to catch—
like
those monkeys
vainly
stretching out
their hands
for the moon
in a valley pool.

1. We love the venerable house Our fathers built to God;
2. Here holy thoughts a light have shed From many a radiant face,
In heaven are kept their grateful vows, Their dust endears the sod.
And prayers of humble virtue spread The perfume of the place.

3. And anxious hearts have pondered here
The mystery of life,
And prayed th' Eternal Light to clear
Their doubts and aid their strife.

4. From humble tenements around
Came up the pensive train,
And in the church a blessing found,
That filled their homes again;

Long life's a lovely thing to know,
With lovely health and wealth, forsooth,
And lovely name and fame—But O
The loveliness of Youth!

We must buy coal.
On account of the wind
the flowers are constantly losing their petals.

Horseman,
take me to the best firewood store.
At present the chill wind is blowing too hard,
intent on leaving nothing,
not a single word of human speech.

I go to the hearth to light the fire,
but it's full of a pool of golden spittle.
I head southwards in search of live coals but
they tell me some Greek fellow died for that long ago.

I shook my head
and told them “No.”
For the sake of the future,

I will break the back
of this long, midwinter night,
folding it double,
cold beneath my spring quilt,
that I may draw out
the night, should my love return.

Now the lovely moon is wilted,
——Lost her petals down the sky.
——Sorrily the wind goes by;
Rosebuds where the branches tilted
——Yield their flowers with a sigh.

June, the wonderment of blossom,
——With her necklace' thirsty pearls,
——With her tearful eyes and girl's
Changing, ever changing bosom,
——With the hot sun in her curls—

This is last of all the June-nights.—
——Let us softly speak of living,
——Thou whose life was but forgiving,
I that in the passèd moonlight's
——Shadow, moved thee with my grieving.

I LOVE thee longer and I love thee most—
Altho' I love thee always to the end—
To-day among the blossoms lightly tossed
That with the sunshine blend,

Below the bright new leaves and wandering
Within the warm and lilac-laden breeze,
I love thee most this only day of spring
Under the open trees.

This thick curled hyacinth is all for thee.
The tulips yonder wave to get a smile.
Make them as happy, love! Ah happy me!
Love them a little while.

I am so happy, happy, being thine!