poems about love

Lovely is the night,
The silver moon
Sprinkles dewy light
O'er breathless June.
In her pretty cradle boat
Our lily on the stream
Is drifting to the strand
Where water-lilies float
Near the Isles of Dream
In the Somewhere Land.
Our baby flower is drifting,
Drifting, drifting
To the Isles of Dream
In the Somewhere Land.

In her beauty robes
Of rest and sleep,
Angels keep our babe
In slumber deep.
In her lily-petaled gown,
Our flower on the stream

Heart of all holiness,
Gladness and glory,
God of all wisdom,
Wondrous the story:
Thou hast ordained me
Mother to be
Of a child of the ages
Born unto Thee.

Now is my spirit
Strong and uplifted,
To Thy great goodness
Holily gifted;
Be Thy bright splendour
Rayed on my child,
Kindness incarnate,
Lowliness mild.

Perfect, ennoble,
Sanctify woman;
Crown her with beauty,
Strengthen, illumine,
Till each love-offering
Humble as mine
Be joy-sacrificial,

Come, my loved one, to the feast
Ere the rosy fringe of dawn
Steal into the slumbering east
And the last faint stars are gone.
Holy, holy is the night,
Blazing with its jewels bright.

Elfin lanterns gem the sea;
Thou than heaven more beauteous art;
Lo, I bring the gift to thee
Wonder-flaming in my heart.
Come, my loved one, ere the light
Banishes the lingering night.

Not where sultry southern skies
Languish over lilied bowers;
Where the artist Nature dyes
Scarlet the pomegranate flowers,

A thousand martyrs I have made,
All sacrific'd to my desire;
A thousand beauties have betray'd,
That languish in resistless fire.
The untam'd heart to hand I brought,
And fixed the wild and wandering thought.

I never vow'd nor sigh'd in vain
But both, tho' false, were well receiv'd.
The fair are pleas'd to give us pain,
And what they wish is soon believ'd.
And tho' I talk'd of wounds and smart,
Love's pleasures only touched my heart.

Alone the glory and the spoil
I always laughing bore away;

Dear love, life has dewy mornings,
And the shadeless blaze of noon,
Flowers, that we stop to gather,
That fade from our hands so soon.

Dear love, there are meetings, partings,
We have sunshine, we have shade,
There's no continuing city
That our human hands have made.

We go onward, joy and sorrow
Checkers all the path we tread,
But our Father loves His children
And with loving care they're led.

Dear love, His great wisdom chooseth
The path that we both have trod,

Very tranquil lies the sea,
Rowers to your places move:
Even this is the ship of love.
While new songs the sirens sing
To their cadence you shall row,
Sorrow to your oars shall cling,
And in sadness and in woe
New sighs from old sighs shall grow,
And more griefs your spirit prove:
Even this is the ship of love.
And as thus you row distressed,
Fresh distresses shall you find,
Seas of danger and unrest,
Storms and buffeting of wind;
Yet content will in your mind
Reign all pain and grief above:

Grown old in Love from Seven till Seven times Seven
I oft have wished for Hell for Ease from Heaven

Seen my lady home las' night,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Hel' huh han' an' sque'z it tight,
Jump back, honey, jump back,
Hyeahd huh sigh a little sigh,
Seen a light gleam f'om huh eye,
An' a smile go flittin' by--
Jump back, honey, jump back.

Hyeahd de win' blow thoo de pine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
Mockin'-bird was singin' fine,
Jump back, honey, jump back.
An' my hea't was beatin' so,
When I reached my lady's do',
Dat I could n't ba' to go--
Jump back, honey, jump back.

D ANTE A LIGHIERI , Cecco, your good friend
And servant, gives you greeting as his lord,
And prays you for the sake of Love's accord,
(Love being the Master before whom you bend,)
That you will pardon him if he offend,
Even as your gentle heart can well afford.
All that he wants to say is just one word
Which partly chides your sonnet at the end.
For where the measure changes, first you say
You do not understand the gentle speech
A spirit made touching your Beatrice:
And next you tell your ladies how, straightway,

I hear it is charged against me that I seek to destroy institutions;
But really I am neither for nor against institutions,
(What indeed have I in common with them?—Or what with the destruction of them?)
Only I will establish in the Mannahatta, and in every city of these States, inland and seaboard,
And in the fields and woods, and above every keel little or large, that dents the water,
Without edifices, or rules, or trustees, or any argument,
The institution of the dear love of comrades.