romantic poems

'Twas not the glossy, golden flow
Of tresses richly braided,
'Twas not the dimpled rose below,
Whose soul-fed smile they shaded!

Those dark-fringed eyes of brilliant blue,
Whose glances talk in light, love,
Thy fragrant lips' deep, carmine hue,
Thy hand so soft and slight, love;

It was not these — though these excel,
In thee, all others' beauty; —
It was not these, that wove the spell,
And won my love and duty.

Thy heart is like the Jasmine-bell,
It yields its wealth of feeling;

It was an old, a celebrated Church;
About the aisle ran many pillars tall,
And carved wood-work the chancel gathered in;
An old, worn Church, sad was the sight to see.
How lazy through the darkened window-panes,
The sun half-way withdrawn shone dimly down;
Across those clumsy frames the spiders wove,
A dull and heavy air of Sorrow hung
About the old worn pile; upon the Texts
Graven in gold over the chancel's steps.
But when, as comes the prelude to a storm,
The deep-toned organ waked the drowsy air,

" Vos plaudite!" th' imperial Roman said
To them that stood around his dying bed.
To those I love, who after me shall live,
This be my message — " Pity, and forgive!"

Beautiful darling!
Light of mine eyes!
Gay as the starling
Shoots thro' the skies;

Swift as the swallow, and
Soft as the dove;
Hopeless to follow, and
Maddening to love!

Ah when she dances! and
Ah when she sings!
Glamour of glances, and
Rush as of wings, —

Trill as of coming birds
Heard unaware, —

Lo if a man, magnanimous and tender,
Lo if a woman, desperate and true,
Make the irrevocable sweet surrender,
Show to each other what the Lord can do, —

Each, as I know, a helping and a healing,
Each to the other strangely a surprise,
Heart to the heart its mystery revealing,
Soul to the soul in melancholy eyes, —

Where wilt thou find a riving or a rending
Able to sever them in twain again?
God hath begun, and God's shall be the ending,
Safe in His bosom and aloof from men.

I love the time of Autumn's fading groves;
For with the sere and yellow leaf appears
A dreamy sadness, that my spirit loves,
And loves the more with my departing years.
How soft the light that lies on all the scene,
How sweet the stillness of the hazy noon,
When first succeed to Summer's living green
The Autumn splendors. Then the glorious moon
Sails in a purer heaven, and bright stars shed
A blessed radiance on the paths of men:
And they who walked with timid steps in dread
Of fell disease, at length breathe free again.

Beautiful streamlet by my dwelling side,
I love thy shining sands, thy banks of grass;
I love to see thy silver water pass,
Hurrying beneath the willow boughs to hide.
Thy nursing springs are in the forest shade,
Moss-bank and rock, brown trunk and ancient tree,
Woodbirds and wild flowers are thy company,
Until thou glitterest in the open glade.
Thou wert my playmate in my early days;
I built cascades and tiny bridges then;
Now thoughtfully on thy green banks I gaze,
And thy bright current, gushing through its glen,

Though I (try to) hide it,
My love
Ends by showing in my face,
To such an extent that people ask
" Are you thinking about something"?

Do not pluck me,
Plucking me is too unfair.
I'm a willow near the pond by the Qu River,
this man broke me, that man plucked me:
Each one's love lasted only a moment.

Drop by drop and drip by drip, rain on the winding banks,
Pair by pair and one by one, mandarin ducks chatter.
Lush, lush, the fragrance of wild flowers,
Soft, soft, the yellow of the golden willow-threads
Lovely, lovely, the girls on the river,
Two by two, dancers beside the stream
Bright, bright, the gleam of silk and gauze robes,
Dainty, dainty, the adornments of cloud hair and cosmetics.