poems about love

Dear, since we both are held in Love's command,
Why all this idle speech and feigned surprise;
See, see how near, how breathless-close we stand—
Open thy eyes!

Dear, thou art grown so careful of thy grace,
Thou hoardest, like a miser, all thy charms;
Cease weighing every kiss and swift embrace,
Open thy arms.

Dear, I have gained thy heart but not thy side,
Now must the struggle end, and thou give o'er—
I am Love-crowned—I cannot be denied,
Open thy door!

I'm going to break out
of this poetry
that boxes me into
love
the sea
and a death
that never speaks of the smell.
Shamelessly I can tell you
I am sick
can no longer stand
not being able to say
that which when said
becomes a little
of what is not said

Oh wou'd some pitying Pow'r inlarge my View!
And teach me what to shun, and what pursue:
Love! prompts me forward, thro'a foreign Way,
But Tyrant Duty still commands my Stay:
Duty's a Guardian, which I must not lose;
Yet such a lambent Flame, who can refuse?
A Love so pure! so perfect! so intense!
So truly free from all Alloys of Sense,
As ev'n by dying Nuns might be confest,
And centre boldly in an Angel's Breast:
To keep this Love, I could my Life forego;
But losing it, I shall my Duty show.

1. O God whose presence glows in all Within, a-
2. That truth be with the heart believed, Of all who
round us, and above! Thy word we bless, thy
seek this sacred place; With power proclaimed, in
name we call, Whose word is truth, whose name is love.
peace received, Our spirits' light, thy Spirit's grace.

3. That love its holy influence pour,
To keep us meek and make us free,
And throw its binding blessing more
Round each with all, and all with thee.

4. Send down its angel to our side;
Send in its calm upon the breast;

When I am fretted to that wayward mood
Which urgeth me to shun the haunts of man
For serious silence and strict solitude,—
That passion spent, such solace as I can
(For instant loss of friends—from whom my rude,
Strange melancholy parts me) I take; and scan—
Half glad, half sad—wise Nature in her plan
And nice completions; and long time brood
Deeply and awfully, till some small theme
Or vast—the Robin's trill; the murmuring
Of mingling springs; the rushing of a stream,
Rapid and rough—or winds on their strong wing,

Within my casement came one night
The fairy Moon, so pure and white.
Around my brow a coronet
Of shining silver quaintly set
With rainbow gems, she there did place;
But when I turned my wistful face,
Lo! she had vanished, and my gaze
Saw naught save shadows 'mid the haze.

I felt a throb within my heart,
In which sad sorrow had no part;
Within my soul a yearning grew,
So sweet it thrilled me through and through.
A flute's soft warble echoed nigh,
As if an angel fluttered by;
And on my lips there fell a kiss;—

When I am standing on a mountain crest,
Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray,
My love of you leaps foaming in my breast,
Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray;
My heart bounds with the horses of the sea,
And plunges in the wild ride of the night,
Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large glee
That rides out Fate and welcomes gods to fight.
Ho, love, I laugh aloud for love of you,
Glad that our love is fellow to rough weather,—
No fretful orchid hothoused from the dew,
But hale and hardy as the highland heather,

Dear Letters, Fond Letters,
Must I with you part?
You are such a source of joy
To my lonely heart.

Sweet Letters, Dear Letters,
What a tale you tell;
O, no power on earth can break
This strange mystic spell!

Dear Letters, Fond Letters,
You my secret know—
Don't you tell it, any one—
Let it live and grow.

Love is an odour from the heavenly bowers
Which stirs our senses tenderly, and brings
Dreams which are shadows of diviner things,
Beyond this grosser atmosphere of ours.
An oasis of verdure and of flowers,
Love smileth on the pilgrim's weary way;
There sweeter airs, there fresher waters play;
There purer solace speeds the tranquil hours.
This glorious passion, unalloyed, endowers
With moral beauty all who feel its fire;
Maid, wife and offspring, sister, mother, sire,
Are names and symbols of its hallowed powers.

We never meet; yet we meet day by day
Upon those hills of life, dim and immense—
The good we love, and sleep, our innocence.
O hills of life, high hills! And, higher than they,
Our guardian spirits meet at prayer and play.
Beyond pain, joy, and hope, and long suspense,
Above the summits of our souls, far hence,
An angel meets an angel on the way.

Beyond all good I ever believed of thee,
Or thou of me, these always love and live.
And though I fail of thy ideal of me,
My angel falls not short. They greet each other.