romantic poems

Lady Maria, in you merit and distinction,
joy, intelligence and perfect beauty,
hospitality and honor and distinction,
your noble speech and pleasing company,
your sweet face and merry disposition,
the sweet look and the loving expression
that exist in you without pretension
cause me to turn toward you with a pure heart.

Thus I pray you, if it please you that true love
and celebration and sweet humility
should bring me such relief with you,
if it please you, lovely woman, then give me
that which most hope and joy promises

Love in his mellowing year draws us all on
Who once were buds and shoots and fragile flowers;
His seasons pass; unnoticeably grown,
We yet abide the dictate of his hours;
And some, alas, in early spring decayed:
Some by an evil blight, or damp, or drought,
Their vigorous hoped-for beauty have delayed,
And some their strength unseasonably put out;
Yet love abides: that we may bloom in joy,
Waft his rich honeyed breath upon the air,
Grow ripe in wisdom as the hours destroy
Those lustrous petals flowers in summer wear,

O great sun of heaven, harm not my love;
Sear him not with your flame, blind him not with your beauty,
Shine for his pleasure!

O gray rains of heaven, harm not my love;
Drown not in your torrent the song of his heart,
Lave and caress him.

O swift winds of heaven, harm not my love;
Bruise not nor buffet him with your rough humor,
Sing you his prowess!

O mighty triad, strong ones of heaven,
Sun, rain, and wind, be gentle, I charge you—
For your mad mood of wrath have me—I am ready—

A love beyond one's reach
is certainly ridiculous!

In bed behind
a young man
too tall for him!

Where are the bay-leaves, Thestylis, and the charms?
Fetch all; with fiery wood the caldron crown;
Let glamour win me back my false lord's heart!
Twelve days the wretch hath not come nigh to me,
Nor made enquiry if I die or live,
Nor clamored (oh unkindness!) at my door.
Sure his swift fancy wanders otherwhere,
The slave of Aphrodite and of Love.
I'm off to Timagetus' wrestling-school
At dawn, that I may see him and denounce
His doings; but I'll charm him now with charms.
So shine out fair, O moon! To thee I sing

An Amorous Shepherd lov'd a charming Boy,
As fair as thought could frame, or wish enjoy;
Unlike his Soul, illnatur'd and unkind,
An Angell's body with a Fury's mind:
How great a God Love was, He scorn'd to know,
How sharp his arrows, and how strong his bow,
What rageing wounds he scatters here below.
In his address and talk fierce, rude, untame,
He gave no comfort to the Shepherd's flame:
No cherry Lips, no Rose his Cheeks did dye,
No pleasing Fire did sparkle in his Eye,
Where eager thoughts with fainting Vertue strove,

Love-lighted to the end, she may have thought,
As in she passed, ‘When was I here before?’
And when the radiant faces, more and more,
With old-home smiles their eager welcome brought,
Amid the gentle din she must have sought
His voice familiar at some opening door,
Ware of no change, love-folded as of yore,
Nor dreaming what Death's miracle had wrought.

Happy such morrows to love-lighted days!
The Heaven to her as Earth with him had been,—
The Earth to him as Heaven, because, within,
Her memories still vision all his ways.

All summer she scattered the daisy leaves;
They only mocked her as they fell.
She said: “The daisy but deceives;
There is no virtue in its spell.
‘He loves me not,’ ‘he loves me well,’
One story no two daisies tell.”
Ah, foolish heart, which waits and grieves
Under the daisy's mocking spell!

But summer departed, and came again.
The daisies whitened every hill;
Her heart had lost its last year's pain,
Her heart of love had had its fill,
And held love's secrets at its will.
The daisies stood untouched and still,

Thou hast wounded the spirit that loved thee,
And cherished thine image for years,
Thou hast taught me at last to forget thee,
In secret, in silence, and tears,
As a young bird when left by its mother,
Its earliest pinions to try,
Round the nest will still lingering hover,
Ere its trembling wings to try.

Thus we're taught in this cold world to smother
Each feeling that once was so dear;
Like that young bird I'll seek to discover
A home of affection elsewhere.
Though this heart may still cling to thee fondly

On Stella's brow as lately envious Time
His crooked lines with iron pencil traced,
That brow, erewhile like ivory tablets smooth,
With Love's high trophies hung, and victories graced,
Digging him little caves in every cell,
And every dimple, once where Love was wont to dwell;

He spied the God: and wondered still to spy,
Who higher held his torch in Time's despite;
Nor seemed to care for aught that he could do.
Then sternly thus he sought him thence to affright:
The sovereign boy entrenched in a smile,