romantic poems

I went to Love's old treasure house last night,
Alone, when all the world was still -- asleep,
And saw the miser Memory, grown gray
With years of jealous counting of his gems,
There seated. Keen was his eye, his hand
Firm as when first his hoarding he began
Of precious things of Love, long years ago.
"And this," he said, "is gold from out her hair,
And this the moonlight that she wandered in,
With here a rose, enamelled by her breath,
That bloomed in glory 'tween her breasts, and here

Le jeu ne vaut pas la chandelle.

THIS treasure of love, these passion-flowers,
Dear as desire, are dearly bought:
The sweet unrest of seeing you
For some too-happy hour or two,
Is paid by such a wealth of tears,
Such grief, such bitterness, such fears,
Such wild remorse, such weak regret,
Such tide of longing towards you set,
As poison all my other hours,
And murder every other thought.


I cannot drink joy steeped in fears,
I choose the cold unhurtful days;

Love always exceeds its objects
which, however great or beautiful,
are subject to time, decay, and death:
after their brief season in the sun,
they lose their fresh bloom, so magical,
and harden slowly or rot in their youth.
But love remains eternally youthful,
whether embodied as a silly, naked boy
wilfully shooting his invisible darts
at unsuspecting victims, or entirely bodiless,
too subtle to behold, but still quivering
in every heart's secret places. Love is not
subject to us, but we are subject to it:

This love, that dares not warm before its flame
   Our yearning hands, or from its tempting tree
Yield fruit we may consume, or let us claim
   In Hymen's scroll of happy heraldry
   The twining glyphs of perfect you and me --
May kindle social fires whence curls no blame,
   Find gardens where no fruits forbidden be,
And mottoes weave, unsullied by a shame.

For, love, unmothered Childhood wanly waits
   For such as you to cherish it to Youth:
   Raw social soils untilled need Love's own verve

All these maneuverings to avoid
The touching of hands,
These shifts to keep the eyes employed
On objects more or less neutral
(As honor, for time being, commands)
Will hardly prevent their downfall.

Stronger medicines are needed.
Already they find
None of their strategems have succeeded,
Nor would have, no,
Not had their eyes been stricken blind,
Hands cut off at the elbow.

THERE come dull days in love's clear atmosphere,
When clouds and doubt obscure the wide expanse.
The woods are still; no songs of birds entrance;
No sunlight falls, and desolate and drear,
As if harmonious with the lurking fear
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Which sucks love's peace, the leaden waves that glance
From rock-bound coast the general gloom enhance;
And spectral winds are wailing far and near.
When suddenly, and oft in darkest hour,
I hear some strain of music, or some voice,
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LOVE, mistress is of many minds,
Yet few know whom they serve;
They reckon least how little Love
Their service doth deserve.

The will she robbeth from the wit,
The sense from reason's lore;
She is delightful in the rind,
Corrupted in the core.

She shroudeth vice in virtue's veil,
Pretending good in ill
She offereth joy, affordeth grief,
A kiss where she doth kill.

A honey-shower rains from her lips,
Sweet lights shine in her face;

Your presence is a psalm of praise,
And as its measure grandly rings
God's finger finds my heart and plays
A te deum upon its strings.
I never see you but I feel
That I in gratitude must kneel.

Your head down-bent, the brow of snow
Crowned with the shining braids of hair,
To me, because I love you so,
Is in itself a tender prayer,
All faith, all meekness, and all trust-
'Amen!' I cry, because I must.

Your clear eyes hold the text apart,
And shame my love of place and pelf

LOVE found them sitting in a woodland place,
His amorous hand amid her golden tresses;
And Love looked smiling on her glowing face
And moistened eyes upturned to his caresses.

'O sweet,' she murmured, 'life is utter bliss!'
'Dear heart,' he said, 'our golden cup runs over!'
'Drink, love,' she cried, 'and thank the gods for this!'
He drained the precious lips of cup and lover.

Love blessed the kiss; but, ere he wandered thence,
The mated bosoms heard this benediction:

As a most happy mother feels the stir
Of that new life which quickens with her life,
And knows that virtue has gone forth from her
To doubly sanctify the name of wife;
Yet, for her joy's sake, and because pride
Is too unutterably sanctified,
And all the heaven of heavens within her breast
Too dearly and too intimately possessed,
Speaks not a word, but folds her new delight
With a rapt silence, comforting as night;
So, when I felt the quickening life that came
To bid my life's long-slumbering currents move,