romantic poems

(T ROADES , A NTISTROPHE , 853)

Love , Love, who once didst pass the Dardan portals,
Because of Heavenly passion!
Who once didst lift up Troy in exultation,
To mingle in thy bond the high Immortals! —
Love, turned from his own name
To Zeus's shame,
Can help no more at all.
And Eos' self, the fair, white-steeded Morning, —
Her light which blesses other lands, returning,
Has changed to a gloomy pall!
She looked across the land with eyes of amber, —
She saw the city's fall, —

They show no inclination
to truly come to blows.

To fall in love
or to fall out of love —
both end in tears.

Parting:
Love for love, the willow grows distant from our boat

Love:
Frozen hands and feet come and gladly meet at night

Donating for sutra-chanting a box she used to carry with her:
That she may know I love her and miss her — clinking a bell, thinking of her, without a moment's interval

There's no color called love in this world, yet how thoroughly it has dyed my heart!

Loving you, my heart may shatter into a thousand pieces, but not one piece will be lost

I loved her; and you say she loved me not.
Well, if I loved her? And if she forgot,
Well, I have not forgotten even yet:
Time, and spent tears, may teach me to forget.
And so she loves another, and did then
When she was heaven and earth to me, and when,
Truly, she made me happy. It may be:
I only know how good she was to me.
Friend, to have loved, to have been made happy thus,
What better fate has life in store for us,
The dream of life from which we have to wake,
Happier, why not? why not for a dream's sake?

I know your lips are bought like any fruit;
I know your love, and of your love the root;
I know your kisses toll for love that dies
In kissing, to be buried in your eyes;
I know I am degraded for your sake,
And that my shame will not so much as make
Your glory, or be reckoned in the debt
Of memories you are mindful to forget.
All this I know, and, knowing it, I come
Delighted to my daily martyrdom;
And, rich in love beyond the common store,
Become for you a beggar, to implore
The broken crumbs that from your table fall,

O woman! I am jealous of the eyes
That look upon you; all my looks are spies
That do but lurk and follow you about,
Restless to find some guilty secret out.
I am unhappy if I see you not,
Unhappy if I see you; tell me what
That smile betokens? what close thing is hid
Beneath the half-way lifting of a lid?
Who is it, tell me, I so dread to meet,
Just as we turn the corner of the street?
Daily I search your baffling eyes to see
Who knows what new admitted company?
And, sick with dread to find the thing I seek,