poems about love

Consumed by love of Beauty, and aflame
At human heart with half-celestial fire,
Kindled by torch of sensuous desire,
At once his torment, happiness, and shame,
A glow more fierce than frosty age could tame,
Buonarroti taught this blaze aspire
Burning to sacred incense on the pyre
Of pure devotion to Colonna's name.
Yet even when kneeling on the brink of death,
Praying for grace, confessing earthly love,
He would condone it with a chastening rod,
And justify, with penitential breath,

More strange than death to all regrets,
Love gives no tear to passion sped:
Its frozen heart at once forgets
The wronged, the absent, and the dead.
We see the wave that Venus rides, —
We do not see the doom it hides.

Fierce, boundless, fetterless, supreme,
Relentless, glorious, mindless, gay,
Love grants us one supernal dream,
One vision, one ecstatic day;
In fate's dull book one fiery page, —
Of bliss an hour, of woe an age.

Be the red roses never more
Companions to a thought of mine!

Snowdrops in my garden grow,
Tulips there and jonquils blow,
Hyacinths and asphodels,
Pinks and Canterbury-bells: —
Lady-in-the-Green grows there,
And Love-in-a-Mist
Springs up wild!
Mother says I'm but a child,
I do not care!
Lady-in-the-Green grows there,
Love-in-a-Mist springs up wild.

Prince's-feather, hollyhock,
Poppy, primrose, four-o'clock,
Marigold and violet,
Lavender and mignonette: —
Lady-in-the-Green grows there,
And Love-in-a-Mist
Springs up wild!

I have a place where I may go,
And keep myself apart;
Sometime a room within a house;
Sometime within the heart,

Of a long bramble by a wall,
Pink-petaled in the clod;
And there I steep in loveliness,
And hear god call to god.

For loveliness is not in bulk;
A rose may harbor me,—
(A thing in need of lovely things)—
Or a tower by the sea.

Afar-off shore
And a beating tide.
With a rustling breeze
Away we ride,—
Sing for the sea,
Sing, sing cheerily.

Swift our painted bow
Cuts the hissing foam,
Swift fly the eddies behind,
Swift we rush towards home,
Sing for the sea,
Sing, sing cheerily.

On the white beach stands,
My love with her flowing hair.
She waves her small hands
For love, not despair;
Sing for the sea,
Sing, sing cheerily.

O! blow heavy breeze,
Bend our mast, load our sail.

Oh, you who love me not, tell me some way
Whereby I may forget you for a space;
Nay, clean forget you and your lovely face —
Yet well I know how vain this prayer I pray.
All weathers hold you. Can I make the May
Forbid her boughs blow white in every place?
Or rob June of her rose that comes apace?
Cheat of their charm the elder months and gray?
Aye, were you dead, you could not be forgot:
So sparse the bloom along the lanes would be;
Such sweetness out the briery hedges fled;
My tears would fall that you had loved me not,

Faith

The spreading circle of the known,
That Science strives to bound with laws,
Is but a glowing sparkle thrown
From God, the radiant central cause.

His mystery is vaster far
Than knowledge is or e'er can be;
The wheel of Evolution's car
Rolls onward through eternity.

A stilly voice forever sounds
The lapses of our doubt between:

O Love, he went a-straying,
A long time ago!
I missed him in the Maying,
When blossoms were of snow;
So back I came by the old sweet way;
And for I loved him so,
I wept that he came not with me,
A long time ago!

Wide open stood my chamber door,
And one stepped forth to greet;
Gray Grief, strange Grief, who turned me sore
With words he spake so sweet.
I gave him meat, I gave him drink;
(And listened for Love's feet).
How many years? I cannot think;
In truth, I do not know —

I

Thorns or flowers in life may be,
But the way Love leads is the way for me.

II

Never a question, never a fear
Under God's heaven, if Love be near.

III

Bitter the burdens of life, but still
I bear them meekly at Love's sweet will.

IV

Knowing that Love of life is Lord,
Not a rewarder, but a Reward!

Sweet Love, I cannot show thee in this guise
Of earthly words, how dear to me thou art,
Nor once compare thy image in my eyes
With thy dear self reposed within my heart.
The love I bear to thee I truly prize
Above all joys that offer in the mart
Of the wide world, our wishes to suffice, —
And yet I seek thy love; for no desert
That I can boast, but that my new love cries
For love that to its own excess is meet,
And searching widely through this dark world's space,
Hath found a love which hath its holy seat