poems about love

I leave the marts where gold, where silver's won,
For places where their hues alone are seen,
In yellow flowers, that burnish in the sun—
And white, that silver-tip the May-banks green.
And on his scrambled heaps the miser's eyne,
Amorous of his bane, did never gloat
With half of my delight when as I note
The moonlight silvering the waters sheen,
And herein am I richer far and wiser
Than him who barters life for Commerce' wealth,
And as he groweth rich turns poor and miser,
Losing the life of life—delight and health—

Full well it may be seen
To such as understand,
How some there be that ween
They have their wealth at hand:
Through love's abusèd band
But little do they see
The abuse wherein they be.

Of love there is a kind
Which kindleth by abuse,
As in a feeble mind
Whom fancy may induce
By love's deceitful use
To follow the fond lust
And proof of a vain trust.

As I myself may say,
By trial of the same,
No wight can well bewray
The falsehood love can frame.
I say, twixt grief and game,

I was a child with all a child's wild prayers,
That followed Love yet ever saw him flee,
His splendid feet on-speeding silently;
His wings gold tinctured spread athwart life's stairs
Ascending ever, and yet unawares
Oft turning his fair face and suddenly
Fixing his deep eyes smilingly on me:
So climbing girlhood caught at unguessed cares

But one Spring day Love halted in his flight
And straight let flash an arrow at my heart,
So that I swooned, who strove to reach his side …
When I awoke, a sea of saffron light

To the Bearer. Hold, are you mad? you damn'd confounded Dog,
I am to rise, and speak the Epilogue.
To the Audience. I come, kind Gentlemen, strange news to tell ye
I am the Ghost of poor departed Nelly.
Sweet Ladies, be not frighted, I'le be civil,
I'm what I was, a little harmless Devil.
For after death, we Sprights, have just such Natures,
We had for all the World, when humane Creatures;
And therefore I that was an Actress here,
Play all my Tricks in Hell, a Goblin there.
Gallants, look to't, you say there are no Sprights;

Ah, how sweet it is to love!
Ah, how gay is young Desire!
And what pleasing pains we prove
When we first approach Love's fire!
Pains of love be sweeter far
Than all other pleasures are.

Sighs which are from lovers blown
Do but gently heave the heart:
Ev'n the tears they shed alone
Cure, like trickling balm, their smart:
Lovers, when they lose their breath,
Bleed away in easy death.

Love and Time with reverence use,
Treat them like a parting friend;
Nor the golden gifts refuse

I hear your spade
Delving the soft wet garden-mould,
And listen half-afraid
Lest you should chance dig up again the old
Long-buried golden dream that died
The day you came upon us side by side—

Lest unaware
And only half-remembering
You suddenly lay bare
Your love of me that perished in the spring,
And only see among the stones
A huddle of unknown time-whitened bones:

And so forget the heart of golden flame
That died the night misunderstanding came.

What did you want to welcome,
blooming?
Had you understood
the darkness?

Had it ended in joy?
I merely passed through you.
Did you know
that I tried to return endlessly?

Love was too large for me.
Did you make certain
of flesh,
which I believed in and passed by?

Did you not explore?
Were you not uncertain?
Was joy that total?
Could you believe in me that much?

I was in your joy.
In you love was total.
But the darkness had not ended.
I was staring.

Ah!—Here I stand and dream, and sunset's red dominions
Burn, high before my sight.
Who am I that my thought should stretch young eager pinions
Towards the far golden morning-light?

Between me and the past lie fields on fields of sorrow:
Yet, brown-eyed maiden, thee
I have to-day—and perhaps to-morrow,—and to-morrow,—
And then the dark night, and the sea.

Once more before my death, old dreams and thoughts romantic
Have leaped up high again:
And passion's wind with laugh half silver-sweet, half frantic,

Young Love found a Dial once in a dark shade
Where man ne'er had wandered nor sunbeam played;
“Why thus in darkness lie?” whispered young Love,
“Thou, whose gay hours in sunshine should move.”
“I ne'er,” said the Dial, “have seen the warm sun,
“So noonday and midnight to me, Love, are one.”

Then Love took the Dial away from the shade,
And placed her where Heaven's beam warmly played.
There she reclined, beneath Love's gazing eye,
While, marked all with sunshine, her hours flew by.
“Oh, how,” said the Dial, “can any fair maid

Turiddu, thee, this woman loved,
With all her tender, melting charms;
See how she wept, and laughed, and clung
In the close shelter of thy arms.

Turiddu, now the woman hates,
Silent the wood-dove's cooing note,
Look, lest in blinded fury she
Shall leap and clutch thy tawny throat.