poems about love

The waves forever move;
The hills forever rest:
Yet each the heavens approve,
And Love alike hath blessed
A Martha's household care,
A Mary's cloistered prayer.

I, too, the fatal harvest gained
Of them that sow with seed of fire
In passion's garden—I have drained
The goblet of thy sick desire.

I from thy love had bitter bliss,
And ever in my memory stir
The after-savours of thy kiss—
The taste of aloes and of myrrh.

And yet I love thee, love unblessed
The poison of thy wanton's art;
Though thou be sister to the Pest
In thy great hands I lay my heart!

And when thy body Titan-strong
Writhes on its giant couch of sin,
Yea, though upon the trembling throng

WE HAVE LIVED and loved together
Through many changing years;
We have shared each other's gladness
And wept each other's tears;
I have known ne'er a sorrow
That was long unsoothed by thee;
For thy smiles can make a summer
Where darkness else would be.

Like the leaves that fall around us
In autumn's fading hours,
Are the traitor's smiles, that darken
When the cloud of sorrow lowers;
And though many such we've known, love,
Too prone, alas, to range,
We both can speak of one love

There are three fine devils eating my heart—
They left me, my grief! without a thing;
Sickness wrought, and Love wrought,
And an empty pocket, my ruin and my woe.
Poverty left me without a shirt,
Barefooted, barelegged, without any covering;
Sickness left me with my head weak
And my body miserable, an ugly thing.
Love left me like a coal upon the floor,
Like a half-burned sod that is never put out.
Worse than the cough, worse than the fever itself,
Worse than any curse at all under the sun,
Worse than the great poverty

Blest be the bonds of Christian love
That bind our hearts in one;
Blest foretaste of the bliss above,—
Our heaven on earth begun

Kindred in Christ, our hopes we rest,
Alike on His dear name;
One love inspires each throbbing breast,—
Our covenant-vows, the same

Our prayers from many hearts ascend,—
One cloud before the throne;
Our many grateful voices blend
In one harmonious tone.

So joy for joy, and tear for tear,
And grace for grace is given;
So the glad harvest, ripened here,

O yes, we mean all kind words that we say,
To old friends and to new;
Yet doth this truth grow clearer day by day,
We love but few.

We love! we love! what easy words to say,
And sweet to hear,
When sunrise splendor brightens all the way,
And far and near

Is breath of flowers, and caroling of birds,
And bells that chime,—
Our hearts are light, we do not weigh our words
At morning time.

But when the matin-music all is hushed,
And life's great load
Doth weigh us down, and thick with dust

The roses climbed the garden wall,
And blushed in sweet profusion;
From blooming boughs the birds let fall
A musical confusion.
The twilights there were fine and sweet,
And fair the summer weather,
And she who made my world complete
Sweeter than all together.

The evening star shone overhead;
The grass with dew-drops glistened;
One scarce had heard the words we said
Who jealously had listened:
Love's language is not writ, I wot,
Only in tender speeches;
By many a smile or glance 'tis taught,

Oh, give me, Lord, Thy love for souls,
For lost and wand'ring sheep,
That I may see the multitudes
And weep as Thou dost weep.
Help me to see the tragic plight
Of souls far off in sin;
Help me to love, to pray, and go
To bring the wand'ring in.

Take Thou some flaming coals,
From off the altar of thy heart
To touch my life and give me, Lord,
A heart that's hot for souls.
O Fire of Love, O Flame Divine,
Make Thy abode in me;
Burn in my heart, burn evermore,
Till I burn out for Thee.

I have found a nobler love
Than the sordid world doth know
Above its envy or belief
My flames of passion glow

I love Primroses wi their mole eyed faces
In Briery borders and wood mossy places
I love pale primroses well
And the wild Blue bell
Primroses I love in the Briery dell

I love it for the sake of young school boys
A school boy once myself I shared their joys
Teasing through thorns
On Aprils dewy morns
I love to hear in woods the young school boys

They scramble for Primrose and Violet
And handfuls mid oak leaves they get
They spy in hedge row prest
With eggs a Black birds nest