poems about love

Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
The stars look very cold about the sky,
And I have many miles on foot to fare.
Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:
For I am brimfull of the friendliness
That in a little cottage I have found;
Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;

Kanji is drenched in saffron, the damsel drenched in deep orange!
Their eyes drenched with love, they wait at the doors of garden!
Who shall we say is more beautiful? The lord if Vraj or his lover?
When we gaze at the best among men-both are equally priceless pearls!
Kanji is drenched in saffron, the damsel drenched in deep orange!
Their eyes drenched with love, they wait at the doors of garden!

With gait full of frolic, they fly into the garden
And lose themselves completely in the limitless celebrations of colors!

When in the heart of the valleys and hid by the roses
The sweet Love lies,
Has he wings to rise to his heavens or in the closes
Lives and dies?

On the peaks of the radiant mountains if we should meet him
Proud and free,
Will he not frown on the valleys? Would it befit him
Chained to be?

Will you then speak of the one as a slave and a wanton,
The other too bare?
But God is the only slave and the only monarch
We declare.

It is God who is Love and a boy and a slave for our passion

Just because
people love your mind,
doesn't mean they
have to have
your body,
too.

NEW YORK, July 20, 1883.
DEAR GIRL:
The town goes on as though
It thought you still were in it;
The gilded cage seems scarce to know
That it has lost its linnet.
The people come, the people pass;
The clock keeps on a-ticking;
And through the basement plots of grass
Persistent weeds are pricking.


I thought ‘twould never come — the Spring —
Since you had left the city;
But on the snow-drifts lingering
At last the skies took pity.
Then Summer’s yellow warmed the sun,

I could take the Harlem night
and wrap around you,
Take the neon lights and make a crown,
Take the Lenox Avenue busses,
Taxis, subways,
And for your love song tone their rumble down.
Take Harlem's heartbeat,
Make a drumbeat,
Put it on a record, let it whirl,
And while we listen to it play,
Dance with you till day--
Dance with you, my sweet brown Harlem girl.

One with the Heaven above
Am I its bliss:
Part of its truth and love,
And what God is.
I heal the soul and mind:
I work their cures:
Not Grief, that rends Mankind,
But Joy endures.

Joy is fleet,
Sorrow slow.
Love, so sweet,
Sorrow will sow.
Love, that has flown
Ere day's decline,
Love to have known,
Sorrow, be mine!

When beauty breaks and falls asunder
I feel no grief for it, but wonder.
When love, like a frail shell, lies broken,
I keep no chip of it for token.
I never had a man for friend
Who did not know that love must end.
I never had a girl for lover
Who could discern when love was over.
What the wise doubt, the fool believes--
Who is it, then, that love deceives?

Joyful, joyful we adore Thee, God of glory, Lord of love,
Hearts unfold like flowers before Thee, hail Thee as the sun above.
Melt the clouds of sin and sadness, drive the dark of doubt away;
Giver of immortal gladness, fill us with the light of day.

All Thy works with joy surround Thee, earth and heav'n reflect Thy rays,
Stars and agnels sing around Thee, center of unbroken praise;
Field and forest, vale and moutain, flow'ry meadow, flashing sea,
Chanting birds and flowing fountain call us to rejoice in Thee.