poems about love

Lord, give me blessed fear,
And much more blessed love
That fearing I may love Thee here
And be Thy harmless dove:

Until Thou cast out fear,
Until Thou perfect love,
Until Thou end mine exile here
And fetch Thee home Thy dove.

Somewhere far in the years behind
A true heart loved me well:
But Fate was fickle, and I was blind—
It's nothing new to tell
I acted madly we had to part
The dear spring daisies came;
But I had broken a loving heart
And they never seemed the same.

Ah! darling love of the days gone by,
The daisies were lovely then:
They smiled up each to the summer sky;
They never will smile so again.
For I broke the hearts of the loving flowers
When I broke that heart so brave:
They never will smile as in olden hours,

Love and the Graces evermore do wait
Upon the man that is a Potentate.

How hotly men will wrangle—
One furious with another!
See how the strong hands mangle
Some poor down-trodden brother.
Is this the lofty nature?
Is this the lordly mind?
Can no poor human creature
Love and be kind?

But if such strife be common,
There still are nobler spirits
To rescue and illumine,
The mould that man inherits.
Such, with the lamp of goodness,
A tranquil pathway find,
Such, in the raging rudeness,
Are gentle and kind.

Strive boldly, human brother—

Thou art the very marrow of my soul,
Thou art the very substance of my thought.
Absent, I still am conscious of the whole,
Glad impulse that my life from thee has caught.
Core of my core and center of my brain,
Pulse of my pulse and essence of my pain,
I sleep to meet thee in a world apart,
Thy love a moonlight blossom on my heart.
Thou art the very beating of my blood,
Thou art the wings of every soaring aim,
And all the tides of life are at the flood,
Since loving came.

Dearest, thou art so beautifully nigh!

Love me brought
And love me wrought,
Man, to be thy fere;
Love me fed,
And love me led,
And love me letteth here.

Love me slew,
And love me drew
And love me laid on bier;
Love is my peace,
For love I chese
Man to buyen dear.

Ne dread thee nought,
I have thee sought
Both by day and night,
To haven thee;
Well is to me,
I have thee won in fight.

Ye maidens attend to my tale,
Of love that sly archer take care;
His darts o'er all ranks do prevail,
The wealthy, the wise, and the fair.

When once his fierce arrow he throws,
Contentment will bid you adieu;
No potion the doctor bestows,
Can then be of service to you.

Experience prompts me to tell,
I felt his tyrannical sway;
The time I remember too well;
It was a long month and a day.

The youth, I'll not mention his name,
Who was the sole cause of my smart,
His deeds were unnotic'd by fame,

Larkspur and Hollyhock,
Pink Rose and purple Stock,
Lovely smelling Mignonette,
Lilies not quite opened yet,
Phlox the favorite of bees,
Bleeding Heart and Peonies
Just their names are nice to say,
Softly,
On a summer's day.

High in the pine-tree
The little Turtle-dove
Made a little nursery,
To please her little love.
“Coo,” said the Turtle-dove,
“Coo,” said she;
In the long shady branches
Of the dark pine-tree.

No words for the Way
no thought for afterward
not caring what they'll say
here loving, loved
you look on me, I look on you.