romantic poems

Twelve years have held their quiet course
Since Cyra's nuptial day;
How happily, how rapidly,
Those years have past away!

Bless'd in her husband she hath been;
He loved her as sincerely,
(Most sinful and unhappy man!)
As he had bought her dearly.

She hath been fruitful as a vine,
And in her children bless'd;
Sorrow hath not come near her yet,
Nor fears to shake, nor cares to fret,

From house to house, from street to street,
The rapid rumor flies;
Incredulous ears it found, and hands
Are lifted in surprise;
And tongues through all the astonish'd town
Are busier now than eyes.
" So sudden and so strange a change!
A Freedman, too, the choice!
The shame, — the scandal, — and for what?
A vision and a voice!
" Had she not chosen the strait gate, —
The narrow way, — the holy state, —
The Sanctuary's abode?
Would Heaven call back its votary
To the broad and beaten road?

Look at yon silent dwelling now!
A heavenly sight is there,
Where Cyra in her Chamber kneels
Before the Cross in prayer.

She is not loath to leave the world;
For she hath been taught with joy
To think that prayer and praise thenceforth
Will be her life's employ.

And thus her mind hath she inclined,
Her pleasure being still
(An only child, and motherless)
To do her Father's will.

The moonlight falls upon her face,
Upraised in fervor meek,
While peaceful tears of piety
Are stealing down her cheek.

Shunning human sight, like a thief in the night,
Eleimon made no delay,
But went unto a Pagan's tomb
Beside the public way.
Enclosed with barren elms it stood,
There planted when the dead
Within the last abode of man
Had been deposited.
And thrice ten years those barren trees,
Enjoying light and air,
Had grown and flourish'd, while the dead
In darkness moulder'd there.
Long had they overtopp'd the tomb;
And closed was now that upper room
Where friends were wont to pour,
Upon the honor'd dust below,

A youth hath enter'd the Sorcerer's door,
But he dares not lift his eye,
For his knees fail, and his flesh quakes,
And his heart beats audibly.

" Look up, young man! " the Sorcerer said;
" Lay open thy wishes to me!
Or art thou too modest to tell thy tale?
If so, I can tell it thee.

" Thy name is Eleimon;
Proterius's freedman thou art;
And on Cyra, thy Master's daughter,
Thou hast madly fix'd thy heart.

" But fearing (as thou well mayest fear!)
The high-born Maid to woo,

Being in thought of love, I chanced to see
Two youthful damozels.
One sang: " Our life inhales
All love continually."

Their aspect was so utterly serene,
So courteous, of such quiet nobleness,
That I said to them: " Yours, I may well ween,
'Tis of all virtue to unlock the place.
Ah! damozels, do not account him base
Whom thus his wound subdues:
Since I was at Thoulouse,
My heart is dead in me."

They turned their eyes upon me in so much
As to perceive how wounded was my heart;

Thy lovely saints do bring Thee love,
Incense and joy and gold;
Fair star with star, fair dove with dove,
Beloved by Thee of old.
I, Master, neither star nor dove,
Have brought Thee sins and tears;
Yet I too bring a little love
Amid my flaws and fears.
A trembling love that faints and fails
Yet still is love of Thee,
A wondering love that hopes and hails
Thy boundless Love of me;
Love kindling faith and pure desire,
Love following on to bliss,
A spark, O Jesus, from Thy fire,
A drop from Thine abyss.

The rhyme o' The Raggedy Man's 'at's best
Is Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs,
'Cause that-un's the strangest of all o' the rest,
An' the worst to learn, an' the last one guessed,
An' the funniest one, an' the foolishest. —
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs!

I don't know what in the world it means —
Tickle me, Love, in these Lonesome Ribs! —

Loud sung the wind in the ruins above
Which murmured the warnings of time o'er our head,
While fearless we offered devotions to love,
The rude rock our pillow, the rushes our bed!

Damp was the chill of the wintery air,
But it made us cling closer, and warmly unite;
Dread was the lightning, and horrid its glare,
But it showed me my Julia in languid delight.

To my bosom she nestled and felt not a fear
Though the shower did beat and the tempest did frown;
Her sighs were as sweet and her murmurs as dear

I dreamed again, and lo, a solemn glory
Transfigured earth and sea;
The vibrant universe revealed a story
Of love and power to me.
Oh, never was such light on earth beholden,
Save when the sacred gleam,
Upon the spirits of the seers olden,
Breathed mystery and dream.

I think that haply angel hands had chanced
The door of some bright zone
Of heaven to open, so to me there glanced
The radiance of the throne.
'Twas not as earth-light that must go unbending
Into the fields afar,