romantic poems

My love, like the vast majority,
knows nothing about poetry
With my poor poems she does
simply incredible things:
she irons them, darns them, fries them,
she even beats them out with a broom
My love, like the vast majority,
lives touching poetry.

They sin who tell us Love can die.
With life all other passions fly,
All others are but vanity.
In Heaven Ambition cannot dwell,
Nor Avarice in the vaults of Hell;
Earthly these passions of the Earth,
They perish where they have their birth;
But Love is indestructible.
Its holy flame for ever burneth,
From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth;
Too oft on Earth a troubled guest,
At times deceived, at time opprest,
It here is tried and purified,
Then hath in Heaven its perfect rest:
It soweth here with toil and care,

The Fool of nature, stood with stupid eyes
And gaping Mouth, that testify'd Surprize,
Fix'd on her Face, nor cou'd remove his Sight,
New as he was to Love, and Novice in Delight:
Long mute he stood, and leaning on his Staff,
His Wonder witness'd with an Ideot laugh;
Then would have spoke, but by his glimmering Sense
First found his want of Words, and fear'd Offence:
Doubted for what he was he should be known,
By his Clown-Accent and his Country-Tone.
Through the rude Chaos thus the running Light

Love is that madness which all lovers have;
But yet 'tis sweet and pleasing so to rave:
'Tis an enchantment, where the reason's bound;
But paradise is in the enchanted ground;
A palace, void of envy, cares and strife,
Where gentle hours delude so much of life.
To take those charms away, and set me free,
Is but to send me into misery;
And prudence, of whose cure so much you boast,
Restores those pains which that sweet folly lost.

One with eyes the fairest
Cometh from his dwelling,
Some one loves thee, rarest,
Bright beyond my telling.
In thy grace thou shinest
Like some nymph divinest,
In her caverns dewy: —
All delights pursue thee,
Soon pied flowers, sweet-breathing,
Shall thy head be wreathing.

(Country-Girl's Song)

I

My Love's gone a-fighting
Where war-trumpets call,
The wrongs o' men righting
Wi' carbine and ball,
And sabre for smiting,
And charger, and all!

II

Of whom does he think there
Where war-trumpets call?
To whom does he drink there,
Wi' carbine and ball

LOVE AND FRIENDSHIP

Nothing was heard in the room but the hurrying pen of the stripling,
Or an occasional sigh from the laboring heart of the Captain,
Reading the marvellous words and achievements of Julius Caesar
After a while he exclaimed, as he smote with his hand, palm downwards,
Heavily on the page: " A wonderful man was this Caesar!
You are a writer, and I am a fighter, but here is a fellow
Who could both write and fight, and in both was equally skilful! "

XXXV RICHARD I

Redoubted King, of courage leonine,
I mark thee, Richard! urgent to equip
Thy warlike person with the staff and scrip;
I watch thee sailing o'er the midland brine;
In conquered Cyprus see thy Bride decline
Her blushing cheek, love-vows upon her lip,
And see love-emblems streaming from thy ship,
As thence she holds her way to Palestine.
My Song, a fearless homager, would attend
Thy thundering battle-axe as it cleaves the press
Of war, but duty summons her away

When maidens are young, and in their spring,
Of pleasure, of pleasure, let 'mdash take their full swing,
——Full swing, full swing,
And love, and dance, and play, and sing.
For Silvia, believe it, when youth is done,
There 's nought but hum-drum, hum-drum, hum-drum,
There 's nought but hum-drum, hum-drum, hum-drum.

Then Silvia be wise, be wise, be wise,
The painting and dressing for a while are supplies,
——And may surprise—
But when the fire 's going out in your eyes,
It twinkles, it twinkles, it twinkles, and dies,

A curse upon that faithless maid,
Who first her sex's liberty betrayed;
Born free as man to love and range,
Till nobler nature did to custom change.
Custom, that dull excuse for fools.
Who think all virtue to consist in rules.

From love our fetters never sprung,
That smiling god, all wanton, gay and young.
Shows by his wings he cannot be
Confined to a restless slavery;
But here and there at random roves,
Not fixed to glitt'ring courts or shady groves.

Then she that constancy professed,