poems about love

Three students once tarried over the Rhine,
And into Frau Wirthin's turned to dine.

'Say, hostess, have you good beer and wine?
And where is that pretty daughter of thine?'

'My beer and wine is fresh and clear.
My daughter lies on her funeral bier.'

They softly tipped into the room;
She lay there in the silent gloom.

The first the white cloth gently raised,
And tearfully upon her gazed.

'If thou wert alive, O, lovely maid,
My heart at thy feet would to-day be laid!'

Lo, thou and I, my love,
And the sad stars above,-
Thou and I, I and thou!
Ah could we lie as now
Ever and aye, my love,
Hand within hand, my love,
Heart within heart, my dove,
Through night and day
For ever!

Lo, thou and I, my love,
Up in the sky above,
Where the sun makes his home
And the gods are, my love,
One day may wander from
Star unto star, my love,-
Soul within soul, my love,
Yonder afar
For ever!

Lo, thou and I, my love,
Some time shall lie, my love,

I have within Thought's garden sat
And played with this sweet flower and that,
And touched my lute till each soft string
Was tuned to Love's remembering.
Then in the grass I've laid me down
And woven my heart a faery crown,
As one who in a dream might be
Intoxicate with poesy.
Until I felt my being grow
Pure as a flower, as white as snow,
Though through it did a rosy streak
The passion of my love bespeak.
And I would feed on fancies then
Till I came back to time again,
Like one who on a fragrant way

Though that men do call it dotage,
Who loveth not wanteth courage;
And whosoever may love get,
From Venus sure he must it fet
Or else from her which is her heir,
And she to him must seem most fair.
With eye and mind doth both agree.
There is no boot: there must it be.
The eye doth look and represent,
But mind afformeth with full consent.

Thus am I fixed without grudge:
Mine eye with heart doth me so judge.

Love maintaineth all noble courage.

Though I thy Mithridates were,
Framed to defy the poison-dart,
Yet must thou fold me unaware
To know the rapture of thy heart,
And I but render and confess
The malice of thy tenderness.

For elegant and antique phrase,
Dearest, my lips wax all too wise;
Nor have I known a love whose praise
Our piping poets solemnize,
Neither a love where may not be
Ever so little falsity.

Though I had lost my love,
The hills could calm me.
Deep in a woodland grove
No loss could harm me.
But when I came to town,
And saw around me
Lovers pass up and down —
Then sorrow crowned me.

Those Shandon bells, those Shandon bells!
Whose deep, sad tone now sobs, now swells-
Who comes to seek this hallowed ground,
And sleep within their sacred sound?

'Tis one who heard these chimes when young,
And who in age their praises sung,
Within whose breast their music made
A dream of home where'er he strayed.

And, oh! if bells have power to-day
To drive all evil things away,
Let doubt be dumb, and envy cease-
And round his grave reign holy peace.

True love doth love in turn beget,

This year I have seen autumn with new eyes,
Glimpsed hitherto undreamt of mysteries
In the slow ripening of the town-bred trees;
Horse-chestnut lifting wide hands to the skies;
And silver beech turned gold now winter's near;
And elm, whose leaves like little suns appear
Scattering light — all, all have made me wise
And writ me lectures in earth's loveliness,
Whether they laugh through the grey morning mist,
Or by the loving sun at noon are kissed
Or seek at night the high-swung lamp's caress.

This sepration from Thee my Love!
I can't withstand.
Helpless you made me,
I may perish in this grief.
Love enter this dwelling,
I shall lock the doors.
Without you,i am extinguished and
Thrown out from this dwelling of love.
I may perish in this grief.
O My saaki you made me oblivious of my existence,
Now tell me whom have thee brefriended?
How could they be prettier than me Love?
listen I may perish in this grief.
In darkness, the pearl seller told me straight truth

This mad carnival of loving,
This wild orgy of the flesh,
Ends at last and we two, sobered,
Look at one another, yawning.

Emptied the inflaming cup
That was filled with sensuous potions,
Foaming, almost running over--
Emptied is the flaming cup.

All the violins are silent
That impelled our feet to dancing,
To the giddy dance of passion--
Silent are the violins.

All the lanterns now are darkened
That once poured their streaming brilliance
On the masquerades and murmurs--