poems about love

Teach me to love? Go, teach thyself more wit:
I chief professor am of it.
Teach craft to Scots and thrift to Jews;
Teach boldness to the stews;
In tyrants' courts teach supple flattery;
Teach Jesuits, that have travelled far, to lie;
Teach fire to burn and winds to blow;
Teach restless fountains how to flow;
Teach the dull earth, fixed, to abide;
Teach womankind inconstancy and pride;
See if your diligence here will useful prove:
But, prithee, teach not me to love.

The god of love, if such a thing there be,

Take all of me, — I am thine own, heart, soul,
Brain, body, — all; all that I am or dream
Is thine forever; yea, though space should teem
With thy conditions, I'd fulfil the whole —
Were to fulfil them to be loved of thee.
Oh, love me! — were to love me but a way
To kill me — love me; so to die would be
To live forever. Let me hear thee say
Once only, " Dear, I love thee, " — then all life
Would be one sweet remembrance, thou its king:
Nay, thou art that already, and the strife
Of twenty worlds could not uncrown thee. Bring,

A sweet " No! no! " with a sweet smile beneath
Becomes an honest girl, — I'd have you learn it;
As for plain, " Yes! " it may be said, i' faith,
Too plainly and too soft, — pray, well discern it!

Not that I'd have my pleasure incomplete,
Or lose the kiss for which my lips beset you;
But that in suffering me to take it, sweet!
I'd have you say — " No! no! I will not let you! "

Sweet in goodly fellowship
Tastes red wine and rare O!
But to kiss a girl's ripe lip
Is a gift more fair O!
Yet a gift more sweet, more fine,
Is the lyre of Maro!
While these three good gifts were mine,
I'd not change with Pharaoh.

Bacchus wakes within my breast
Love and love's desire,
Venus comes and stirs the blessed
Rage of Phaebus' fire;
Deathless honor is our due
From the laureled sire:
Woe should I turn traitor to
Wine and love and lyre!

Should a tyrant rise and say,

Sweet, at this morn I chancid
To peep into the chamber; lo! I glancid,
And saw white sheets thy whiter skin disclosing,
And soft-sweet cheek on pillow soft reposing;
Then said, " Were I that pillow,
Dear, for thy love I would not wear the willow."

A sunset's mounded cloud;
A diamond evening-star;
Sad blue hills afar;
Love in his shroud.

Scarcely a tear to shed;
Hardly a word to say;
The end of a summer day;
Sweet Love dead.

The sun was now withdrawn,
The shepherds home were sped;
The moon wide o'er the lawn
Her silver mantle spread;
When Damon stay'd behind,
And saunter'd in the grove:
" Will ne'er a nymph be kind,
And give me love for love?

" Oh! those were golden hours,
When Love, devoid of cares,
In all Arcadia's bowers
Lodg'd swains and nymphs by pairs!
But now from wood and plain
Flies ev'ry sprightly lass:
No joys for me remain,
In shades, or on the grass. "

The winged boy draws near,

The sun shines high on yonder hill,
And low on yonder den;
And the place where my bonnie lovie does dwell,
The sun goes never doon, bonnie lovie,
The sun goes never doon.

Saddle me the black, the black,
And saddle me the broon,
That I may ride a' roon, bonnie lovie,
That I may ride a' roon.

When will ye come back, bonnie lovie,
And when will ye be hame?
When the heather hills are nine times brunt
And a' grown green again, bonnie lovie,
And a' grown green again.

Such wayward ways hath Love, that most part in discord
Our wills do stand, whereby our hearts but seldom do accord.
Deceit is his delight, and to beguile and mock
The simple hearts, which he doth strike with froward diverse stroke.
He causeth the one to rage with golden burning dart,
And doth allay with leaden cold again the other's heart.
Hot gleams of burning fire, and easy sparks of flame,
In balance of unequal weight he pondereth by aim.
From easy ford, where I might wade, and pass full well,

Darling Heart if you would make me
Happy, you have found the way.
Write me letters. How they shake me
Thrill me all the common day.

With our love. I hear your laughter
Little laughs! I see your look
" They Lived Happy Ever After"
As you close the faery book.

Work's been nothing but a pleasure
Every silly little word
Dancing to some elfin measure
Piped by a small chuckling bird.

All this love — as though I've tasted
Wine too rare for human food —
I have dreamed away and wasted