poems about love

A VIEWLESS thing is the wind,
But its strength is mightier far
Than a phalanxed host in battle line,
Than the limbs of a Samson are.

And a viewless thing is Love,
And a name that vanisheth;
But her strength is the wind's wild strength above,
For she conquers shame and Death.

Be still, thou busy foolish thing,
Nor urge me more of her to sing
Who [caused] all thy pain.
Why wilt thou dwell upon a theme
Which serves but to increase your [flame],
That still must burn in vain?

Thus to my heart I oft have said,
But as the dear enchanting maid
Has seized my soul entire,
My reason with my love combined
Is grown to every danger blind,
And joins to fan the fire.

Why pay we to the pow'rs above
Our adoration and our love,
But that they perfect are?

So well I love thee, as without thee I
Love nothing; if I might choose, I'd rather die
Than be one day debarr'd thy company.

Since beasts, and plants do grow, and live and move,
Beasts are those men, that such a life approve:
He only lives, that deadly is in love.

The corn that in the ground is sown first dies
And of one seed do many ears arise:
Love, this world's corn, by dying multiplies.

The seeds of love first by thy eyes were thrown
Into a ground untill'd, a heart unknown

O would that enemy I dread, my fate,
Place me with you in some obscure retreat,
My wishes then would have their utmost bound,
And all I want in your dear arms be found.
By Love's soft passion willingly betrayed,
I'd court the idol which great Love has made,
Thy lovely face, my fancy's only joy,
Whose smiles revive me, and whose frowns destroy.
Yet you, too cruel to the truest heart
That ever loved you, hence resolve to part,
And leave me in return of all my love
A pain which no physician can remove,

Who last shall kiss the lips of love, when love is dead?
Who last shall fold her hands and pillow soft her head?
Who last shall vigil keep beside her lonely bier?
I ask, and from the dark, cold height without, I hear
The mystic answer: " I, her mother, Earth, shall press
Her lips the last, in my infinite tenderness. "

Unto you, most froward, this letter I write
Which hath caused me so longe in despaire.
The goodlinesse of your persone is esye to endite,
For he leveth nat that can youre persone appaire,
So comly best shapen, of feture most faire,
Most fresh of contenaunce, even as an owle
Is best and most favored of ony oder fowle.

Youre manly visage, shortly to declare,
Your forehed, mouth and nose so flatte,
In short conclusion best likened to an hare,
Of alle living thinges, save only a catte.
More wold I sey if I wist what.

Vnhappy youth betrayd by Fate
To such a Love hath Sainted Hate ,
And damned those Caelestiall bands
Are onely knit with equal hands;
The Love of Great Ones? 'Tis a Love
Gods are incapable to prove;
For where there is a Joy uneven,
There never, never can be Heav'n:
'Tis such a Love as is not sent
To Fiends as yet for punishment;
Ixion willingly doth feele
The Gyre of his eternal wheele,
Nor would he now exchange his paine
For Cloudes and Goddesses againe.

Underneath this Marble Stone,
Lie two Beauties join'd in one.

Two whose Loves Death could not sever,
For both liv'd, both dy'd together.

Two whose Souls, b'ing too divine
For Earth, in their own Sphere now shine.

Who have left their Loves to Fame,
And their Earth to Earth again.

I will bring you big things:
Colors of dawn-morning,
Beauty of rose leaves,
And a flaming love.

But you say
Those are not big things,
That only money counts.

Well,
Then I will bring you money.
But do not ask me
For the beauty of rose leaves,
Nor the colors of dawn-morning,
Nor a flaming love.

If I should sing
All of my songs for you
And you would not listen to them,
If I should build
All of my dream houses for you
And you would never live in them,
If I should give
All of my hopes to you
And you would laugh and say: I do not care,
Still I would give you my love
Which is more than my songs,
More than any houses of dreams,
Or dreams of houses —
I would still give you my love
Though you never looked at me.