romantic poems

If I speak to thee in friendship's name,
Thou think'st I speak too coldly;
If I mention Love's devoted flame,
Thou say'st I speak too boldly.
Between these two unequal fires,
Why doom me thus to hover?
I'm a friend, if such thy heart requires,
If more thou seek'st, a lover.
Which shall it be? How shall I woo?
Fair one, choose between the two.

Tho' the wings of Love will brightly play,
When first he comes to woo thee,
There's a chance that he may fly away,
As fast as he flies to thee.

When Love is kind,
Cheerful and free,
Love's sure to find
Welcome from me.

But when Love brings
Heartache or pang,
Tears, and such things--
Love may go hang!

If Love can sigh
For one alone,
Well pleased am I
To be that one,

But should I see
Love given to rove
To two or three,
Then--good by Love!

Love must, in short,
Keep fond and true,
Thro' good report,
And evil too.

Else, here I swear,
Young Love may go.
For aught I care--

If in loving, singing, night and day
We could trifle merrily life away,
Like atoms dancing in the beam,
Like day-flies skimming o'er the stream,
Or summer blossoms, born to sigh
Their sweetness out, and die--
How brilliant, thoughtless, side by side,
Thou and I could make our minutes glide!
No atoms ever glanced so bright,
No day-flies ever danced so light,
Nor summer blossoms mixt their sigh,
So close, as thou and I!

Tho' 'tis all but a dream at the best,
And still, when happiest, soonest o'er,
Yet, even in a dream, to be blest
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more.
The bosom that opes
With earliest hopes,
The soonest finds those hopes untrue:
As flowers that first
In spring-time burst
The earliest wither too!
Ay--'tis all but a dream, etc.

Tho' by friendship we oft are deceived,
And find love's sunshine soon o'ercast,
Yet friendship will still be believed.
And love trusted on to the last.

Oft, when the watching stars grow pale,
And round me sleeps the moonlight scene,
To hear a flute through yonder vale
I from my casement lean.
"Come, come, my love!" each note then seems to say,
"Oh, come, my love! the night wears fast away!"
Never to mortal ear
Could words, tho' warm they be,
Speak Passion's language half so clear
As do those notes to me!

Then quick my own light lute I seek,
And strike the chords with loudest swell;
And, tho' they naught to others speak,

When thro' the Piazzetta
Night breathes her cool air,
Then, dearest Ninetta,
I'll come to thee there.
Beneath thy mask shrouded,
I'll know thee afar,
As Love knows tho' clouded
His own Evening Star.

In garb, then, resembling
Some gay gondolier,
I'll whisper thee, trembling,
"Our bark, love, is near:
"Now, now, while there hover
"Those clouds o'er the moon,
"'Twill waft thee safe over
"Yon silent Lagoon."

Hymen, late, his love-knots selling,
Called at many a maiden's dwelling:
None could doubt, who saw or knew them,
Hymen's call was welcome to them.
"Who'll buy my love-knots?
"Who'll buy my love-knots?"
Soon as that sweet cry resounded
How his baskets were surrounded!

Maids, who now first dreamt of trying
These gay knots of Hymen's tying;
Dames, who long had sat to watch him
Passing by, but ne'er could catch him;--
"Who'll buy my love-knots?
"Who'll buy my love-knots?"--
All at that sweet cry assembled;

When thou shalt wander by that sweet light
We used to gaze on so many an eve,
When love was new and hope was bright,
Ere I could doubt or thou deceive--
Oh, then, remembering how swift went by
Those hours of transport, even thou may'st sigh.

Yes, proud one! even thy heart may own
That love like ours was far too sweet
To be, like summer garments thrown
Aside, when past the summer's heat;
And wish in vain to know again
Such days, such nights, as blest thee then.

Bright be thy dreams--may all thy weeping
Turn into smiles while thou art sleeping.
May those by death or seas removed,
The friends, who in thy springtime knew thee,
All thou hast ever prized or loved,
In dreams come smiling to thee!

There may the child, whose love lay deepest,
Dearest of all, come while thou sleepest;
Still as she was--no charm forgot--
No lustre lost that life had given;
Or, if changed, but changed to what
Thou'lt find her yet in Heaven!

When Love was a child, and went idling round,
'Mong flowers the whole summer's day,
One morn in the valley a bower he found,
So sweet, it allured him to stay.

O'erhead, from the trees, hung a garland fair,
A fountain ran darkly beneath;--
'Twas Pleasure had hung up the flowerets there;
Love knew it, and jumped at the wreath.

But Love didn't know--and, at his weak years,
What urchin was likely to know?--
That Sorrow had made of her own salt tears
The fountain that murmured below.