poems about love

An hour before the challenging gleam
Of dawn that heralds the day,
My love awoke in the midst of a dream
And turned to where I lay.

I felt her breath grow wild and warm
And her arms about me twine,
And she whispered a name as she turned to my arm—
A name that was not mine.

And then she slept at my breast as fast
As though she were never so dear;
But I knew that the glory of Love had passed,
And I knew that the end was near.

Last night we walked among the paths of air;
The earth with all its rude and ancient scars
Had faded out, and there was nothing there
But starlight and the stars.

Each star stood planted like a budding shoot,
And on the ground of Heaven a crescent lay—
Lay like the rind of some exotic fruit
A god had thrown away.

And further still we wandered till we came
Upon the very burning edge of space,
And saw the unborn worlds still wrapped in flame
Hiding God's face.

And then my soul in agony and fear

My song will rest while I rest. I struggle along. I'll get back to the corn and the open fields. Don't fret, love, I'll come out all right.
Back of Chicago the open fields. Were you ever there—trains coming toward you out of the West—streaks of light on the long gray plains? Many a song—aching to sing.
I've got a gray and ragged brother in my breast—that's a fact. Back of Chicago the open field—long trains go west too—in the silence. Don't fret, love. I'll come out all right.

I wish she would not ask me if I love the Kitten more than her.
Of Course I love her. But I love the Kitten, too; and It has Fur.

I purchased my love for money,
Else ne'er had I known its might;
No less did I sing to the gay harp-string
Right sweetly of love's delight.

A dream, though it soon be vanished,
Is sweet when it answers our will;
And Eden to him who is banished
Is beauteous Eden still.

Because you come to me with naught save
love, And hold my hand and lift mine eyes above, A
wider world of hope and joy I see, Be-
cause you come to me.
Because you speak to me in accents
sweet, I find the roses waking round my feet, And
I am led through tears and joy to thee, Be-
cause you speak to me.
Because God made thee
mine, I'll cherish thee Through
light and darkness, through all time to be, And
pray His love may make our love divine, Be-
cause God made thee mine.

I sigh not for rich Peru's buried ore,
Nor any part she has abundantly
Disgorged; nor power, nor state, nor pageantry;
Nor prize the wealth that heaps up Commerce' shore,
Nor that which rides her waves; nor the large store
Which Neptune has obtained too frequently
From the sunk travellers of the perilous sea;
Nor aught of that which makes rich misers poor.
Give all these life-bought nothings unto them.
Of whom they are ador'd; let them have gold
And silver in huge masses, and the gem
That would out-price the richest diadem—

The wound upon my heart glows bright and clear
With such a steady and unwavering light
That in the darkness I shall have no fear
And need no lamp to guide my steps aright.

When of the darkness of the grave I hear,
The night of death, and all the pangs thereof,
I reck not, for one thing alone I fear—
The night of separation from my Love.

“Mother, it's such a lonely house,”
The child cried; and the wind sighed.
“A narrow but a lovely house,”
The mother replied.
“Child, it is such a narrow house,”
The ghost cried; and the wind sighed.
“A narrow and a lonely house,”
The withering grass replied.

Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop lies
Buried in sepulchre of ghastly snow;
But spring is floating up the southern skies,
And darkling the pale snowdrop waits below.

Let me persuade: in dull December's day
We scarce believe there is a month of June;
But up the stairs of April and of May
The hot sun climbeth to the summer's noon.

Yet hear me: I love God, and half I rest.
O better! God loves thee, so all rest thou.
He is our summer, our dim-visioned Best;—
And in his heart thy prayer is resting now.