romantic poems

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom--is to die.

Bright dames when first we meet unheeded passe
We read frail charms on Monuments of Glasse.

In Joylesse Streams the Purple Chrystall flows
Till each is nam'd for whome each Bosom glows.

Then Friendship Love and Wine Unite their fires
Then all their Homage pay, where each admires.

Her breasts, white nuns
Before her eyes—
O hands be
As the smile on a child's face.
Her knees, pale fruit
Whose seed grew from a wish.
Her thighs, boughs of apple blossoms—
O wind blow not too strong.
Her belly, fairy hill of snow.
Her hair, sunlight
In long pale grass limp with dew.
Her voice, sea-mist, wine, flying birds,
White clouds,
Whispers between earth and sky in spring.

This, my love—
She whom I carry
As a bell carries its tongue.
This, my love—
She who makes my days

I have read of the sweet olden story,
Of the fair, happy Eden above;
Of the beautiful mansions of glory,
In the bright golden city of love.
Oh, the sweet olden story
Of the fair, happy Eden above;
Of the beautiful mansions of glory,
In the bright golden city of love.
I have read of the clear sparkling river,
Bursting out 'neath the great throne of God;
How its sweet waters glide on forever,
Making glad all the host of the Lord.
I have read how the banks of that river,
By the saints and the angels are trod,

Let it go on; let the love of this hour be poured out till all the answers are made, the last dollar spent and the last blood gone.

Time runs with an ax and a hammer, time slides down the hallways with a pass-key and a master-key, and time gets by, time wins.

Let the love of this hour go on; let all the oaths and children and people of this love be clean as a washed stone under a waterfall in the sun.

Time is a young man with ballplayer legs, time runs a winning race against life and the clocks, time tickles with rust and spots.

O had I love-inspiring eyes
As brightly blue as summer skies:
Rich locks flowing wave on wave,
Lips ‘whose hue, angry and brave’
Makes the rose less fair to see,
A form of finest symmetry,
Such as angels wear above,—
Then, then I'd pray to be thy love.

O were I of a home possest
Like fabled islands of the blest,
Where nobler woods and purer streams,
And meads enriched with gladder beams
Than earth can boast or poets feign,
Outshone the gold of Saturn's reign,
I'd pray the gods on bended knee

O how I love Thy holy law!
'Tis daily my delight;
And thence my meditations draw
Divine advice by night.

How doth Thy Word my heart engage!
How well employ my tongue,
And in my tiresome pilgrimage
Yields me a heavenly song.

When nature sinks, and spirits droop,
Thy promises of grace
Are pillars to support my hope,
And there I write Thy praise.

When I gaze upon the sky
And the sea below, I cry,
Thus be poetry and love,
Deep beneath and bright above.

Our Mothers, lovely women pitiful;
Our Sisters, gracious in their life and death;
To us each unforgotten memory saith:
“Learn as we learned in life's sufficient school,
Work as we worked in patience of our rule,
Walk as we walked, much less by sight than faith,
Hope as we hoped, despite our slips and scathe,
Fearful in joy and confident in dule.”
I know not if they see us or can see;
But if they see us in our painful day,
How looking back to earth from Paradise
Do tears not gather in those loving eyes?—

Strange part hath Woman with the flowers and streams
And all wild wayward elemental things.
O wingless man, thy partner hath bright wings
O'er which the sunset plays, the rainbow gleams!
The golden morn amid her tresses dreams:
Straight to her heart the tender snowdrop springs.
A message from the Unknown Love she brings:
Mingled with scents of fairy-land she seems.

The Soul that, ever-struggling, ever-chaste,
Toils to be with us in these latter days,
Through Woman its untold desire conveys