romantic poems

Once only by the garden gate
Our lips we joined and parted.
I must fulfil an empty fate
And travel the uncharted.

Hail and farewell! I must arise,
Leave here the fatted cattle,
And paint on foreign lands and skies
My Odyssey of battle.

The untented Kosmos my abode,
I pass, a wilful stranger:
My mistress still the open road
And the bright eyes of danger.

Come ill or well, the cross, the crown,
The rainbow or the thunder,
I fling my soul and body down
For God to plough them under.

Wait a moment
there
on the rim
of the mountain,
you moon at midnight!
If you come out now,
I will be
bereft
of explanations.

The one
who promised
now has gone off
who knows where,
a bird flying off
at morning,
into the sky,
leaving me
in evening's wake.

The beam of morning trembling
Stole o'er the mountain brook,
With timid ray resembling
Affection's early look.
Thus love begins—sweet morn of love!

The noon-tide ray ascended,
And o'er the valley's stream
Diffused a glow as splendid
As passion's riper dream.
Thus love expands—warm noon of love!

But evening came, o'ershading
The glories of the sky,
Like faith and fondness fading
From passion's altered eye.
Thus love declines—cold eve of love!

If , sworn to love, my heart could change,
Or thine, and Beauty's captive, range,
The only difference then would be,
That fickle, though possess'd of thee,
With a new ringlet I should play,
Or to another dimple stray.

I would not have a love wild over-much,
But love with power to do or to refrain;
Love loving Love so well it would not stain
Love's fair white pinions with one brutal touch.

Fled are the summer hours of joy and love!
The brilliant season of delight is o'er
Alone mid leafless woods I silent rove
The voice so dear enchants these bowers no more!
Yet sweet the stillness of this calm retreat,
As toward the sunny bank I pensive stray,
The muse affords her consolations sweet,
And sooths with memory's charms my lonely way—
Here led by Flora o'er the pathless wild
I woo sweet Nature in her private haunts
The rarer flower which long neglected smiled
My curious eye unspeakably enchants—

Oh Lawd, I jes come from de fountain, Lawd,
Jes come from de fountain,
His name so sweet.

Po' sinnuh, do you love Jesus?
Yes, yes, I do love mah Jesus.
Sinnuh, do you love Jesus?
His name so sweet.

Class leader, do you love Jesus?

'Sidin' elder, do you love Jesus?

To the sound of the waters moving,
The birds 'mid the bright flowers sing,
Oh! sweet is the bliss of loving,
And sharp is jealousy's sting.
Through these woods, where tranquillity reigneth,
To the sound of the streams sonorous,
The birds in musical chorus
Sing of the bliss that paineth;
The water that never remaineth,
But runneth in crystal glidings,
Whispereth ever the tidings
That never the heart disdaineth.

To the sound of the waters moving,
The birds 'mid the bright flowers sing,

Tell me, fair maid, tell me truly,
How should infant Love be fed;
If with dewdrops, shed so newly
On the bright green clover blade;
Or, with roses plucked in July,
And with honey liquored?
O, no! O, no!
Let roses blow,
And dew-stars to green blade cling:
Other fare,
More light and rare,
Befits that gentlest Nursling.

Feed him with the sigh that rushes
'Twixt sweet lips, whose muteness speaks
With the eloquence that flushes
All a heart's wealth o'er soft cheeks;
Feed him with a world of blushes,