poems about love

Belovéd you are
Caviar of Caviar
Of all I love you best
O my Japanese bird nest

No herring from Norway
Can touch you for flavor. Nay
Pimento itself
Is flat as an empty shelf
When compared to your piquancy
O quince of my despondency.

'Tis pity, ev'ry maiden knows,
Just as she cools, Love warmer grows;
But, if the chill be too severe,
Trust me, he'll wither in a tear.

Thus will the spring-flow'r bud and blow,
Wrapp'd round in many a fold of snow;
But, if an ice-wind pierce the sky,
'Twill drop upon its bed, and die!

They say no Love's so deep—so pure,
As that where Death has set his seal
It is not so!—at least I'm sure
Death could not add to what I feel!

No! no!—descended from the skies
And breathing Heaven upon the heart
Love—real—true Love, never dies
The immortal soul's least mortal part!

All other passions bear a stain
Which shews they are not from above:
Of Earth—to Earth they turn again—
From Heaven—to Heaven returns true Love!

There may be times when his bright face

You squeeze me in your arms the while your eyes
Hungrily seek, fierce woman, on my face
Close-hid deceits, brief mocking smiles, to trace:
For you have guessed that you have lost your prize.

But I care not, for all my enterprise
Is sending such thoughts through your brain achase;
For thereby do I gain the crowning grace
Of all your splendid savage witcheries.

Seize me and keep me ever for your own,
So that my love flames in you like a star:
But if you dim its ray, be sure some one

A Gentle eye with a spell of its own,
A meaning glance and a sudden thrill;
A voice—sweet music in every tone;
A steadfast heart and a resolute will;

A graceful form and a cheering smile,
Ever the same, and always true.
I have heard of this for a long, long while—
I have seen it, known it, loved it too.

Thou hast pearls and diamonds in plenty,
All things on which hearts set store,
And thine eyes are the very brightest—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

In praise of those brightest eyes, love,
I have written sonnets galore,
A host of immortal verses—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

With those brightest eyes thou hast brought me
An endless heartache sore,
Thou hast ruined me, soul and body—
What wouldst thou, my love, have more?

Blue sapphires are those eyes of thine,
So innocent, my sweeting;
And ah! thrice happy is the man
To whom they give Love's greeting.

Thy heart it is a diamond
That fires divine hath captured;
And ah! thrice happy is the man
For whom it glows enraptured.

Red rubies are those lips of thine,
Lovely beyond expression;
And ah! thrice happy he to whom
They make Love's sweet confession.

Oh that I knew the happy man!
That I might find him wending
His lonely way thro' the green wood—

In my life's deep gloom and darkness
Once a lovely form shed light;
Now that lovely form has vanished,
I am all enwrapped in night.

Just as children's spirits falter
If they're kept in darkness long;
And to drive away their terror
They set up some noisy song.

I, an untrained child, am singing
Loudly in the darkness here;
If the song be not melodious,
It has freed me from my fear.

No—your tepid and your vapid
Soul could not, I know, obey
My love's torrent, fierce and rapid
That through rocks could force its way.

Love's high-road for you's best sorted,
I can see you walking there,
On your husband's arm supported—
With good hopes of coming heir.

He who for the first time loves,
Albeit hopeless, is a god.
But for him whose love is hopeless,
Once again—he is a fool.

I am such a fool, and hopeless
Love once more, no true love winning;
Sun and moon and stars are laughing,
I am laughing too—and dying.