romantic poems

Do but consider this small dust, here running in the glass,
By atoms moved.
Could you believe that this the body was
Of one that loved?
And in his mistress' flame playing like a fly,
Turned to cinders by her eye?
Yes, and in death as life unblest,
To have't expressed,
Even ashes of lovers find no rest.

I

Face to face in my chamber, my silent chamber, I saw her:
God and she and I only, there I sat down to draw her
Soul through the clefts of confession:
" Speak, I am holding thee fast,
As the angel of resurrection shall do at the last!"
" My cup is blood-red
With my sin," she said,
" And I pour it out to the bitter lees,
As if the angels of judgment stood over me strong at the last,

I
Fluttering spread thy purple pinions,
Gentle Cupid o'er my heart;
I a slave in thy dominions;
Nature must give way to art.
II

Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Nightly nodding o'er your flocks,
See my weary days consuming,
All beneath yon flowery rocks.
III

Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping,
Mourned Adonis, darling youth:
Him the boar in silence creeping,
Gored with unrelenting tooth.
IV

Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers;
Fair Discretion string the lyre;

No man may mount upon a golden stair,
Guido my master, to Love's palace-sill:
No key of gold will fit the lock that 's there,
Nor heart there enter without pure goodwill.
Not if he miss one courteous duty, dare
A lover hope he should his love fulfil;
But to his lady must make meek repair,
Reaping with husbandry her favours still.
And thou but know'st of Love (I think) his name:
Youth holds thy reason in extremities:
Only on thine own face thou turn'st thine eyes;
Fairer than Absalom's account'st the same;

Unto that lowly lovely maid, I wis,
So poignant in the heart was thy salute,
That she changed countenance, remaining mute.
Wherefore I asked: " Pinella, how is this?
Hast heard of Guido? know'st thou who he is?"
She answered, " Yea;" then paused, irresolute;
But I saw well how the love-wounds acute
Were widened, and the star which Love calls his
Filled her with gentle brightness perfectly.
" But, friend, an't please thee, I would have it told,"
She said, " how I am known to him through thee.

F AIR sir, this love of ours,
In joy begun so well,
I see at length to fail upon thy part:
Wherefore my heart sinks very heavily.
Fair sir, this love of ours
Began with amorous longing, well I ween:
Yea, of one mind, yea, of one heart and will

As in the cool-air'd road I come by,
--in the night,
Under the moon-clim'd height o' the sky,
--in the night,
There by the lime's broad lim's I did staÿè,
While in the air dark sheädes wer at plaÿè
Up on the window-glass, that did keep
Lew vrom the wind my true love asleep,
--in the night.

While in the grey-wall'd height o' the tow'r,
--in the night,
Sounded the midnight bell wi' the hour,
--in the night,
There come a bright-heäir'd angel that shed
Light vrom her white robe's zilvery thread,

He loved the brook's soft sound,
The swallow swimming by.
He loved the daisy-covered ground,
The cloud-bedappled sky.
To him the dismal storm appeared
The very voice of God;
And when the evening rack was reared
Stood Moses with his rod.
And everything his eyes surveyed,
The insects in the brake,
Were creatures God Almighty made,
He loved them for His sake--
A silent man in life's affairs,
A thinker from a boy,
A peasant in his daily cares,
A poet in his joy.

Can I not come to Thee, my God, for these
So very-many-meeting hindrances,
That slack my pace; but yet not make me stay?
Who slowly goes, rids (in the end) his way.
Cleere Thou my paths, or shorten Thou my miles,
Remove the barrs, or lift me o're the stiles:
Since rough the way is, help me when I call,
And take me up; or els prevent the fall.
I kenn my home; and it affords some ease,
To see far off the smoaking Villages.
Fain would I rest; yet covet not to die,
For feare of future-biting penurie:

Heart to heart!
And the stillness of night and the moonlight, like hushed breathing
Silently, stealthily moving across thy hair!

O womanly face!
Tender and strong and lucent with infinite feeling,
Shrinking with startled joy, like wind-struck water,
And yet so frank, so unashamed of love!

Ay, for there it is, love — that's the deepest.
Love's not love in the dark.
Light loves wither i' the sun, but Love endureth,
Clothing himself with the light as with a robe.

I would bare my soul to thy sight —