poems about love

The first bud of love withers away at the first moment of meeting;
He did not heed her pleas, but flew into the deep woods.
The spring air blooms all flowers,
Alas! my flower wilts away;
Every home lights up, but my lamp flickers away at twilight
Garland of wild flowers cry out around my neck,
I sob in solace rolling in the dusty road like torn ivy.
With intolerable thirst at the mouth of the sea
Fall down on the sandy breast of the shore
Taking me for a smoky cloud, the bird ignores me

Sighing softly to the river
Comes the loving breeze,
Setting nature all a-quiver,
Rustling through the trees!
And the brook in rippling measure
Laughs for very love,
While the poplars, in their pleasure,
Wave their arms above!
River, river, little river,
May thy loving prosper ever.
Heaven speed thee, poplar tree,
May thy wooing happy be!

Yet, the breeze is but a rover,
When he wings away,
Brook and poplar mourn a lover!
Sighing well-a-day!
Ah, the doing and undoing

We pledged our hearts, my love and I,
I in my arms the maiden clasping;
I could not tell the reason why,
But, O, I trembled like an aspen!

Her father's love she bade me gain;
I went, and shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man---in vain!
We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

I do not love you now,
O narrow heart, that had no heights but pride!
You, whom mine fed; to whom yours still denied
Food when mine hungered, and of which love died
I do not love you now.

II.

I do not love you now,
O shallow soul, with depths but to deceive!
You, whom mine watered; to whom yours did give
No dropp to drink to help my love to live
I do not love you now.

III.

I do not love you now!
But did I love you in the old, old way,

Adieu, Romauld! But thou canst not forget me.
Although no more I haunt thy dreams at night,
Thy hungering heart forever must regret me,
And starve for those lost moments of delight.
Naught shall avail thy priestly rites and duties,
Nor fears of Hell, nor hopes of Heaven beyond:
Before the Cross shall rise my fair form's beauties—-
The lips, the limbs, the eyes of Clarimonde.
Like gall the wine sipped from the sacred chalice
Shall taste to one who knew my red mouth's bliss,
When Youth and Beauty dwelt in Love's own palace,

While that the sun with his beams hot
   Scorched the fruits in vale and mountain,
Philon the shepherd, late forgot,
   Sitting beside a crystal fountain
   In shadow of a green oak tree,
   Upon his pipe this song play'd he:
Adieu, Love, adieu, Love, untrue Love!
Untrue Love, untrue Love, adieu, Love!
Your mind is light, soon lost for new love.

So long as I was in your sight
   I was your heart, your soul, your treasure;
And evermore you sobb'd and sigh'd
   Burning in flames beyond all measure:

DREAM faces bloom around your face
Like flowers upon one stem;
The heart of many a vanished race
Sighs as I look on them.

The sun rich face of Egypt glows,
The eyes of Eire brood,
With whom the golden Cyprian shows
In lovely sisterhood.

Your tree of life put forth these flowers
In ages past away:
They had the love in other hours
I give to you to-day.

One light their eyes have, as may shine
One star on many a sea,

I know her story-telling eye
Has more expression than her tongue;
And from that heart-extorted sigh,
At once the peal of love is rung.

When that soft eye lets fall a tear
Of doating fondness as we part,
The stream is from a cause sincere,
And issues from a melting heart.

What shall her fluttering pulse restrain,
The life-watch beating from her soul,
When all the power of hate is slain,
And love permits it no control.

When said her tongue, I wish thee well,

Since justice slumbers in the abysm,
Since the crime's crowned with despotism,
Since all most upright souls are smitten,
Since proudest souls are bowed for shame,
Since on the walls in lines of flame
My country's dark dishonour's written;

O grand Republic of our sires,
Pantheon filled with sacred fires,
In the free azure golden dome,
Temple with shades immortal thronged!
Since thus thy glory they have wronged,
With 'Empire' staining Freedom's home;

Since in my country each soul born

Now he is dead
How should I know
My true love's arms
From wind and snow?

No man I meet
In field or house
Though in the street
A hundred pass.

The hurrying dust
Has never a face,
No longer human
In man or woman.

Now he is gone
Why should I mourn
My true love more than mud,
than mud or stone?