poems about love

But a little while ago
All the ground was white with snow;
Trees and shrubs were dry and bare,
Not a sign of life was there;
Now the buds and leaves are seen,
Now the fields are fresh and green,
Pretty birds are on the wing,
With a merry song they sing!
There's new life in everything!
How I love the pleasant spring!

Am I emptied, Lord, of self?
Search this sinful heart of mine;
Bring the hidden secrets out
To the view of love divine.

Probe my motives, thoughts, and plans,
Attitudes, and loves, and will;
Until I see, as Thou dost see,
Self poured out, so Thou canst fill.

Fill with love—thus Thou canst bless
Others through this house of clay
Yielded, fruitful, in Thy will,
Following in Thy perfect way.

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has gleaned my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripened grain;
When I behold, upon the night's starred face,
Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
And think that I may never live to trace
Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
That I shall never look upon thee more,
Never have relish in the faery power
Of unreflecting love;-- then on the shore

Love reigns! All life is good! The Earth
Is decked in summer hue,
Song birds are caroling beneath
A canopy of blue;
But suddenly the clouds roll up,
And rush to meet the sun,
The sky in fury, lowers over,
The leaves are on the run,
The angry clouds blot out the day
And heavy drops fall fast;
A blinding flash, the thunders crash,
The North-wind blows his blast;
The happy birds, in utter rout,
Now flee with cries of fear,
The sweet day flies, before our eyes,
In a drizzle cold and drear.

O, SAW ye the lass wi' the bonny blue een?
Her smile is the sweetest that ever was seen;
Her cheek like the rose is, but fresher, I ween;
She's the loveliest lassie that trips on the green.
The home of my love is below in the valley,
Where wild-flowers welcome the wandering bee;
But the sweetest of flowers in that spot that is seen
Is the maid that I love wi' the bonny blue een.

When night overshadows her cot in the glen,
She'll steal out to meet her loved Donald again;
And when the moon shines on the valley so green,

I sing of a woman and summer
Of hot days within my limbs
July of months and blazing woman
Who comes before me, burning, burning
Whose eyes stir sulfer seas inside
To collide with the shores of silence.
I sing of a woman and summer
The woman loves another:
I burn as a lonely taper
In blackest night.

Where the beach is flat and flowing,
Wavelets coming, wavelets going,
There the small Mer-children play,
In silver night, in golden day,—
They need never go away.

As we love the sight of ocean,
Sound and color, light and motion,
All mer-children, understand,
Love the stretches of warm sand—
Dearly love to play on land.

As each earth-born son and daughter
Loves the feeling of the water,
Rippling, rolling, here and there,
Over small feet brown and bare—
So the Mer-child loves the air.

Those who have known the Love of Hari's Name, for their house have now no care.
Ever they revered the Sadhus and made their abode in the vault of heaven.
In splendour they live and measureless light: the noose of pitiless Jama is cut.
Bulla proclaims his inmost thought: free from Niranjan's bonds review the show.

When shall the mocking world withhold its blame,
When shall men cease to darken thus my name,
Calling the love which is my pride, my shame!

O Judge, let me my condemnation see;
Whose names are written on my death decree?—
The names of all who have been friends to me.

What hope to reach the Well-Belovéd's door,
The dear lost dwelling that I knew of yore;
I stumbled once; I can return no more.

The joy of love no heart can feel alone,
The fire of love at first unseen, unknown,

Lids closed and pale with parted lips she lay.
Black on white pillows spread her hair unbound.
Awake, I watched her sleeping face and found
Its beauty perfect in the breaking day.

Ah then I knew that Love had passed away,
Alas! though with the entering sun that crowned
With light the beauty that mine arms enwound
Came too the morning music of the bay.

I wept that Love had been and was no more,
That never shower nor sunlight should restore
The beauty that was dead thenceforth to me,