romantic poems

By thee I swore I'd keep away
And from my love two nights would stay;
Dear Venus, when I made the vow
Right merry was your laugh, I trow.

You knew full well I could not bear
More than one night without my dear,
And now that night is left behind
I cast my promise to the wind.

'Twere better, sure, my vow to break
Since it will be for Love's dear sake;
Rather than keep my oath to thee
And die of my own piety.

Though my love may slender be,
She is plump enough for me.
When I lie upon her heart
Nothing keeps us then apart.

See, 'tis an apple I throw you,
Your heart to prove,
Token of all that I vow you,
If you will love;
Take it, my sweetest, and bring to my arms
All the fresh fragrance of maiden-hood's charms.

But if you mean to deny me —
Heaven forfend —
Think ere with " No" you reply me
Of beauty's end;
Look at this apple and see how its bloom
Swiftly will fade and to rottenness come.

Full well I know the grief and smart
That is and will be mine:
Not vain your warning, O poor heart;
But still for love I pine.

From Heliodora fly' — But how?
I have nor strength nor shame.
The very thoughts that warn me glow
Enraptured at her name.

I like not grapes that still are green,
I like not grapes that pressed have been,
And so I would not choose to woo
Widow Glum or Maiden Prue.
Compassion suits the widowed dame,
Respect is due to virgin shame:
My wife a beauty ripe shall be
To tread the courts of Love with me.

Venus, ruler of the waves,
Who the storm-tossed seaman saves,
As a helper by me stand,
For I shipwreck make on land.

I hate Dan Cupid; he is cruel found
And ever aims his shafts my heart to wound.
'Twere better for him raging beasts to fight —
Why should a god set mortal hearts alight?
What glory will he win by slaying me?
My life, methinks, a paltry prize will be.

The dream that we beheld will never more
On mortal wondering dazzled eyes descend.
The sea, less jewelled, will break along the shore:
Love's voice with music will less softly blend.

The rose will veil its splendour when we die.
" Something there was within its tender bloom "
Each loving heart may say, " which, living, I,
I only, saw, — that ceases at my tomb "

And woman? Did not one soul find her fair
Beyond all mortals who have lived and died?
Breathe all heaven's fragrance in her marvellous hair?

In the leafless sycamore
Lo! a winter nest.
Round it all the ceaseless roar
Of the storm's unrest.
Here love's palace once was seen
Swinging to the breeze,
Roofed and guarded by the green,
Full of melodies.
Here the sunset loved to rest,
Smiling on the thrush's nest.

In yon London attic room
Once a painter wrought;
All our dense November gloom
Darkened not his thought.
Woman's love was here as well;
Woman's loving eyes
Met the painter's when they fell
From the pictured skies.

I.

Love with all thy strength of being, while the summer days are long,
While thy heart can mix its music with the lark's and thrush's song;
While the heart of woman seeks thee for the sake of love alone,
While thine ardour wins her sweetness, lures her from her starry throne.

II.

Love with all thy might of manhood, while the summer nights are sweet,
While the honeysuckle listens for the sound of lovers' feet;
While thy voice can ring with passion, while keen rapture can be won,