poems about love

They loved one another, yet neither
Would tell the other so;
With love they were almost heartbroken,
Yet each looked on each as a foe.

They parted at last—and sometimes,
Though only in dreams, they met;
They had long been dead, those lovers,
But themselves searce knew it yet.

They think that I'm heart-broken
With lover's grief profound,
And at last I myself believe it
Like all the world around.

Small child with big eyes, bethink thee,
Did I not always say
That I never could tell how I loved thee,
That love ate my heart away?

But alone in my chamber only
Did I dare to utter such cry;
Alas! I was always silent,
Whenever thou wast by.

For then there were evil angels
By whom I was tongue-tied too;
And alas! there are evil angels
Who still are working me woe.

The years are coming and going,
Generations sleep 'neath the grass,
But the love that burns within me
Will surely never pass.

Once more would I behold thee,
And as on my knee I fell,
With my latest breath would I tell thee,
“Madam, I love you well.”

I stood and stared at her portrait
With fixed and dreamy pain,
And the well-loved face most strangely
Began to live again.

About her lips was playing
The wonder of her smile;
And with tears of love and yearning
Her eyes were bright the while.

My tears began to gather,
And down my cheeks flowed free.
And oh! I cannot yet believe
That thou art lost to me.

Ah, Lily, I love thee so madly
As thou standest in dreams mid the grass,
And look'st in the streamlet so sadly,
And murmurest “Ah” and “Alas.”

Away with thy love and thy coaxing,
I know how deceitful thou art!
Thy tenderest words are but hoaxing,
For my cousin, the Rose, has thy heart.

Hang there, my garlands, by the hall,
The tear-stained wreaths that now I bring,
Nor let your blossoms lightly fall
Bedewed with grief, love's offering.

And when the door is opened wide
And she I crave at last appears,
Pour on her head your mournful tide,
Her golden locks shall drink my tears.

Her Breasts my hands, her lips my kisses hold,
Her neck is forage for my passion bold;
But there all ends; no further may I go
Nor ever shall the joy of victory know.
Two queens she serves, a double victim I,
For one is Love and one is Chastity.

Away, through bramble, bush, and trees,
Ere the wingëd joyance fly
Drain the cup unto the lees
Nature gives with loving eye.

Drink with thirsty spirit, drink
The breathing spring; the winds that pass;
Sink with joy delicious, sink,
Deep in moss and dewy grass.

Happy as the sounding horn,
Through the waking woods I'd sweep;
Flattering the fair vales at morn,
Echoing through the cloven steep.

Like the early sunrise bright,
Full of love's divinest sheen,
Would I bathe, O rare delight!

What is it to educate a human soul?
Is it to teach it how to read, and write,
Grammar, Arithmetic; is this the whole?
Can these alone teach it to live aright?
Such knowledge is but means unto an end,
Too oft to earth's brief, narrow sphere confined;
But higher thoughts there are, that these transcend,
Motives enduring as the human mind;
The love of knowledge, human and divine,
The love of goodness, purity, and truth;
Happy the teacher, who can souls incline
To virtuous ends, in early days of youth;

My love is as endless
as the waves of the Sea of Ariso
that, driven by fierce winds,
never cease their breaking