romantic poems

Come! in thy veil of ashen cloud
With mists around thee, like a shroud,
And wan face colored with no light
Of sun or moon, by day or night;
I would not see thee glad and gay,
Dark month! that called my Love away!

I would not see thee otherwise,
Gray month! that hast the dying eyes;
Cold month! that com'st with icy hands
Chaining the waters and the lands!
So didst thou chill two hearts at play,
Dark month! that called my Love away!

And yet, I know, behind thy mists

… The astonished nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore,
To see themselves their own severer shore.
Thou that alone canst thaw this cold,
And fetch the heart from its stronghold,
Almighty Love! end this long war,
And of a meteor make a star.
Oh, fix this fair indefinite,
And, 'mongst thy shafts of sovereign light
Choose out that sure decisive dart
Which has the key of this close heart,
Knows all the corners of't, and can control
The self-shut cabinet of an unsearched soul …
Disband dull fears, give faith the day;

When thou thy pliant Arms dost wreath
About my Neck, and gently breath
Into my Breast that soft sweet Air
With which thy Soul doth mine repair,
When my faint Life thou draw'st away,
My Life which scorching Flames decay,
Orecharg'd my panting Bosom boyles,
Whose Feavour thy kind Art beguiles,
And with the Breath that did inspire
Doth mildly fan my glowing Fire,
Transported then I cry, above
All other Deities is Love!
Or if a Deity there be
Greater then Love, 'tis onely Thee.

If this jewel thread of life
is to break, let it break:
living on
would be to endure
love's torment alone.

Not fleeting drops
of dew nor tears will pause:
winds of autumn
sweep the dwelling
loved by one now gone.

Though I try to hide them,
my countenance betrays
my feelings:
now everyone is asking
" Are you in love? "

" He is in love! " they say,
my name so quickly
rumored abroad,
though in secret
did I first long for you.

Thou God of love, thou ever blest!
Pity my suff'ring state;
When wilt thou set my soul at rest
From men of cruel hate?

Hard lot of mine! my days are cast
Among the sons of strife,
Whose never-ceasing insults waste
My golden hours of life.

Oh! might I fly to change my place,
How would I choose to dwell
In some wide, lonesome wilderness,
And leave these gates of hell!

Peace is the blessing that I seek:
How lovely are its charms!
I am for peace; but, when I speak,

I'll not die of love
but go on living, it seems,
a grain of sand
floating on the foam
when the tide comes in

Here I thought I was
a big man,
hardly smaller than
earth and heaven —
and yet in love my courage fails