romantic poems

How shall I sing of Her that is
My life's long rapture and despair —
Sorrow eternal — Loveliness,
To whom each heart-beat is a prayer!

Utterly, endlessly, alone
Possessing me, yet unpossessed —
The dark, the drear beloved One
That takes the tribute of this breast:

Daemon disconsolate, in vain,
In vain petitioned and implored —
How many a midnight of disdain
Darkly and dreadfully adored!

Beauty, the virgin, evermore
Out of these arms with laughter fled —

The baffled dreamer, the defeated Christ
That for your love upon the cross-tree hung —
O take Him to your bosom, give Him rest
Close at the wanton wonder of your breast,
O carnal World, forever well and young!

As when in blustring, thund'ring, wintry days,
The bully Boreas on his bagpipe plays;
When old Aquarius ducks this earthly ball,
And empties on our heads his urinal;
When rumbling clouds on grumbling clouds do dash,
And 'midst the flashing lightnings lightnings flash;
Hogs, dogs, and men, perceive the troubled sky,
Hogs, dogs, and men, away for shelter fly;
While all around, the black, dark, gloomy scene
Looks grey, looks white, looks red, looks blue, looks green;
So green, so blue, so red, so grey, so white,

O Love, let the world for once go by,
With its danger-signals & warning cry,
Or else let us dream it was swung in space
Just that we two might stand face to face,
Soul within soul, as eye within eye,
Deaf, blind to all else save the you & the me —
Ah, for once, my life, let the whole world be!
What! We had promised? The words were not ours —
What! There's a heart dead? But ours are just born —

Ay, what will it matter, when all are dead,
That we died apart, with one word unsaid?

As we sit, you and I, in the twilight
And breathe the soft breath of the roses
That mingled with lily and iris
Steals up from your quaint garden-closes;
In the mystical, soft evening weather
When the sunset burns amber and clear
I think that a life-time together
Would not be half long enough, dear!

I long — how I long, my heart's Lady,
To call you a name that is dearer,
To be — always your slave and your lover
And in time something fonder and nearer.
Come home to me, darling, my Lady!

O Love, where are the hours fled,
The hours of our young delight?
Are they forever gone and dead,
Or only vanished out of sight?

O can it be that we shall live
To know once more the joys gone by,
To feel the old, deep love revive,
And smile again before we die?

Could I but fancy it might be,
Could I the past bring back again,
And for one moment, holding thee,
Forget the present and its pain!

O Love, those hours are past away
Beyond our longing and our sighs —

A Crambo Song.

Great Phaebus in his vast career,
Who forms the self-succeeding year,
Thron'd in his amber chariot,
Sees not an object half so bright,
Nor gives such joy, such life, such light,
As dear delicious Harriote .

Pedants of dull phlegmatic turns,
Whose pulse not beats, whose blood not burns,
Read Malbranche, Boyle, and Marriote,
I scorn their philosophic strife,
And study Nature from the life,

Come live with me and be my Dear;
And till that happy bond shall lapse,
I'll set your Poutings in Brevier ,
Your Praises in the largest CAPS.

There's Diamond — 'tis for your Eyes;
There's Ruby — that will match your Lips;
Pearl , for your Teeth; and Minion -size
To suit your dainty Finger-tips.

In Nonpareil I'll put your Face;
In Rubric shall your Blushes rise;
There is no Bourgeois in your Case ;

" No more!" I said to Love. " No more!
I scorn your baby-arts to know!
Not now am I as once of yore;
My brow the Sage's line can show!"
" Farewell!" he laughed. " Farewell! I go!"
And clove the air with fluttering track.
" Farewell!" he cried far off; — but lo!
He sent a Parthian arrow back!

In the duo of Love
There is little libretto;
There are few rhymes but " dove"
In the duo of Love;
Yet we prize it above
All our Epic falsetto; —
In the duo of Love
There is little libretto.