poems about love

VERSE

What a modern age, modern age, modern age,
The whole world's racing;
Speed is all the rage, all the rage, all the rage,
As we go chasing.
Thomas Edison,
He's the one,
Who's begun
Accelerating.
Now with Mister Bell,
Sam'll Morse as well,
Why keep waiting?

REFRAIN 1

No time to pitch woo now,
The century's new now,
I'm singing my love songs in that new ragtime.
The minute I meet ya'
I send for the preacher

Last night, when my tired eyes were shut with sleep,
I saw the one I love, and heard her speak, —
Heard, in the listening watches of the night,
The sweet words melting from her sweeter lips:
But what she said, or seemed to say, to me
I have forgotten, though, till morning broke,
I kept repeating her melodious words.
Long, long may Jami's eyes be blest with sleep,
Like that which last night stole him from himself, —
That perfect rest which, closing his tired lids,
Disclosed the hidden beauty of his love,

Lass, when they talk of love, laugh in their face.
They find not love who seek it far and wide.
Man is a cold, hard brute. Your timid grace
Will leave his coarse desires unsatisfied.

He only lies. And he will leave you lone
Upon your hearth with children to look after,
And you will feel so old when he reels home,
To fill the morning hours with obscene laughter.

Do not believe there is any love for the winning.
But go to the garden where the blue skies pour,
And watch, at the greenest rose-tree's dusky core,

UPON HER PROTESTATION OF KIND AFFECTION, HAVING TRIED HIS SINCERE FIDELITY .

I.

Lady, you are with beauties so enriched
Of body and of mind,
As I can hardly find,
Which of them all hath most my heart bewitched.

II.

Whether your skin so white, so smooth, so tender,
Or face well formed and fair,
Or heart-ensnaring hair,
Or dainty hand, or leg and foot so slender.

III.

Or whether your sharp wit and lively spirit,
Where pride can find no place:

Labor and love! there are no other laws
— To rule the liberal action of that soul
— Which fate hath set beneath thy brief control,
Or lull the empty fear that racks and gnaws;
Labor! then like a rising moon, the cause
— Of life shall light thine hour from pole to pole,
— Thou shalt taste health of purpose, and the roll
Of simple joys unwind without a pause.
Love! and thy heart shall cease to question why
— Its beating pulse was set to rock and rave;
— Find but another heart this side the grave

Jesus, thou Joy of loving hearts,
Thou Font of life, thou Light of men,
From the best bliss that earth imparts
We turned unfilled to thee again.

Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood;
Thou savest those that on thee call;
To them that seek thee thou art good,
To them that find thee All in all.

We taste thee, O thou living Bread,
And long to feast upon thee still;
We drink of thee, the Fountainhead,
And thirst our souls from thee to fill.

Our restless spirits yearn for thee,

Jesus loves me! this I know,
For the Bible tells me so;
Little ones to him belong,
They are weak but he is strong.
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
Yes, Jesus loves me,
The Bible tells me so.

Jesus loves me! he who died,
Heaven's gate to open wide;
He will wash away my sin,
Let his little child come in.
Chorus

Jesus loves me! loves me still,
Though I'm very weak and ill;
From his shining trhone on high,
Comes to watch me where I lie.
Chorus

Jane , she could not:
Fay, she could.
Mary would not,
Kitty would.

My curse on Mary,
Tears for Jane.
Kitty I'll love
And love again.

Yet in the end
I'll marry Fay.
Forgive it, Kitty,
'Tis man's way.

It was the fruit on high,
From whence the chosen seed
Has found its moorless love
Therein, the human creed.

O soul of fatal refrain! —
Like the corn, flowers a cover
Over its skin, doth feign
From a mood; there love can hover.

Ah! by the shore of moss
And through the thrown-up rocks
There whispers the toneful moon;
The mingling serenade looks.

It was the autumn of the year;
The strawberry-leaves were red and sere;
October's airs were fresh and chill,
When, pausing on the windy hill,
The hill that overlooks the sea,
You talked confidingly to me, —
Me whom your keen, artistic sight
Has not yet learned to read aright,
Since I have veiled my heart from you,
And loved you better than you knew.

You told me of your toilsome past;
The tardy honors won at last,
The trials borne, the conquests gained,
The longed-for boon of Fame attained;