poems about love

When the nightegale singes,
The wodes waxen grene:
Lef and gras and blosme springes,
In Averil, I wene.
And love is to mine herte gon
With one spere so kene:
Night and day my blod it drinkes;
Mine herte deth me tene.

Ich have loved all this yer
That I may love na more;
Ich have siked mony sik,
Lemmon, for thine ore.
Me nis love never the ner,
And that me reweth sore.
Swete lemmon, thench on me:
Ich have loved thee yore.

Swete lemmon, I preye thee
Of love one speche.

Have good day, now, Mergerete,
With grete love I thee grete!
I wolde we mighten us ofte mete
In halle, in chaumbre, and in the strete,
Withoute blame of the contree —
God geve that so mighte it be!

My love is falle upon a may:
For love of hire I defende this day.
Love aunterus no man forsaket:
It woundet sore whan it him taket.
Love anterus may haven no reste:
Whare thought is newe, ther love is faste.
Love anterus with wo is bought:
Ther love is trewe, it flitteth nought.

Love is a flame that burns with sacred fire,
And fills the being up with sweet desire;
Yet, once the altar feels love's fiery breath,
The heart must be a crucible till death.

Say love is life; and say it not amiss,
That love is but a synonym for bliss.
Say what you will of love — in what refrain,
But knows the heart, 'tis but a word for pain.

'Twas on a glorious summer eve, —
A lovely eve in June, —
Serenely from her home above
Looked down the gentle moon;
And lovingly she smiled on me,
And softly soothed the pain —
The aching, heavy pain that lay
Upon my heart and brain.

And gently 'mid the murmuring leaves,
Scarce by its light wings stirred,
Like spirit voices soft and clear,
The night wind's song was heard;
In strains of music sweet and low
It sang to me of peace;
It bade my weary, troubled soul
Her sad complainings cease.

AW RETCH long tortur'd with Disdain,
That hourly pin'd, but pin'd in vain;
At length the God of Wine addrest,
The Refuge of Awounded Breast.

Vouchsafe, oh Pow'r, thy healing Aid,
Teach me to gain the cruel Maid;
Thy Juices take the Lover's Part,
Flush his wan Looks, and chear his Heart.

Thus to the Jolly God he cry'd;
And thus the Jolly God reply'd,
Give whining o'er, be brisk and gay,
And quaff this sneaking Form away.

With dauntless Mein approach the Fair;
The Way to Conquer is to Dare.

Melissias denies she's in love
but her body screams
she has absorbed
a quiver of darts
her walk is fitful
and her breath fitful
while her eyes have gone into
smitten hollows
by your dam
the chapleted Kypris
you tiny Lusts
hot up this girl
till the strict thing cries

Venus once bound on Cupid's eyes
A fillet stolen from Fancy's bow,
And sent him wandering from the skies
To seek his fortune here below.

With face of sun-shine soul of mirth
He roved through wood and mead and bower
Making a sweeter heaven on earth
Such was of Fancy's spell the power.

Sometimes he thought he chased through air
The loveliest butterflies — and laugh'd
While wounding many a bosom fair
To see them fluttering on his shaft.

Reason who found an infant boy

Since faint is Praise, which living Merit draws,
And always posthumous is true Applause;
Deny not Worth, far from your Eyes remov'd,
Its late Reward to be rever'd and lov'd.
To Poetry devoted be this Night,
And kill not, with your paltry Cares, Delight;
See how great Dryden could your Sires surprize,
E're Funds were giv'n, or Stocks could fall or rise,
E're Avarice had banish'd Love and Truth,
And with its vile Contagion seiz'd ev'n Youth;
When Vice had yet no other Fools to show,
But the well-natured Cully and the Beau:

Reputation, Love, and Death,
(The last all bones, the first all breath,
The midst composed of restless fire)
From each other would retire;
Through the world resolved to stray,
Every one a several way;
Exercising, as they went,
Each such power as Fate had lent;
Which, if it united were,
Wretched mortals could not bear.
But, as parting friends do show
To what place they mean to go,
Correspondence to engage,
Nominate their utmost stage;
Death declare he would be found
Near the fatal trumpet's sound;