romantic poems

You bid me say what kind of maid
Can draw me or repel?
My friend, I hate a forward jade
But loathe a prude as well.
I love the mean: extremes are vain
And never bring me joy;
Love long denied is grief and pain,
While easy favours cloy.

When Porcia heard how Brutus fell
And strove to join her lord,
'Twas vain, for they who loved her well
Withheld from her the sword.
" Your witless care," she cried, " hath sought
My purpose to deny;
I deemed my father's deed had taught
That all who will may die,
Though troublous knaves their wish withstand
And every weapon hide."
Deep in her throat a flaming brand
She thrust forthwith and died.

M ARONILLA , Gemellus doth adore thee,
With instant prayers and vows doth oft implore thee,
And many a lover's gift he lays before thee;
Since neither beauty, grace, nor charm attend thee
What makes him seek thee so, and thus commend thee?
A churchyard cough that promises to end thee.

Although Verona hears, I dare to say
That Stella's lovely cushat soars above
The pretty sparrow of Catullus' love.
Aye, lesser is thy singer's vaunted lay
As is the sparrow lesser than the dove.

Dear Fronto, famed alike in peace and war,
If you would learn what my chief wishes are,
Know that I crave some acres few to till.
And live at ease as careless as I will.
Why should I always trudge the stony street
And go each morn some haughty lord to greet,
When all the country's spoils are mine to get
Caught in the meshes of a hunting-net?
When I with line could snare the leaping trout
And from the hive press golden honey out,
While Joan my humble board with eggs supplies
Boiled on a fire whose logs she never buys?

I DO not love you, Dr Fell.
The reason why I cannot tell.
But this at least I know full well.
I do not love you, Dr Fell.

CONSTANCY .

I RIFLED a leaf from the heart of a rose: —
Believe! believe!
Though love comes lightly, not lightly it goes;
It steals through our veins and our youth's white flower
Blossoms in crimson from that hour;
Life of our life, it cannot deceive!
I love thee, I love thee, believe!

Oh, fancies are fitful as breezes that blow —
Believe! believe!
They come to us lightly, more lightly they go;
Diviner than duty, and stronger than will,

From Place to Place forlorn I go,
With downcast Eyes a silent Shade;
Forbidden to declare my Woe;
To speak, till spoken to, afraid.
My inward Pangs, my secret Grief,
My soft consenting Looks betray:
He loves, but gives me no Relief:
Why speaks not he who may?

In tears I tossed my coin from Trevi's edge, —
A coin unsordid as a bond of love, —
And, with the instinct of the homing dove,
I gave to Rome my rendezvous and pledge.
And when imperious Death
Has quenched my flame of breath,
Oh, let me join the faithful shades that throng that fount above.

Then take these lines, and add to them the lay,
All inarticulate, I to thee indite:
The sudden longing on the sunniest day,
The happy sighing in the stormiest night,
The tears of love that creep
From eyes unwont to weep,
Full with remembrance, blind with joy, and with devotion deep.