love poem

Young Tyrant of the bow and wings,
Thy altar asks three precious things;
The heart's, the world's most precious three,
Courage, and Time, and Constancy!
And Love must have them all, or none:
By Time he 's wearied, but not won;
He shrinks from Courage hot and high;
He laughs at tedious Constancy;
But all his raptures, tender, true, sublime,
Are given to Courage, Constancy, and Time.

And why, fair Trifler , does that meaning eye
Smile, in contempt , when lovers swear they die?
'Twixt death , and love , but one small diff'rence lies,
The soul , in both , from its left body flies:
In death , 'tis gone, like smoak , dissolv'd in air,
Lost, in expance, the loser knows not where:
In love , we trace it, with such willing pain ,
'Twere to die twice , to take it back again.

I'm thinking, Charles, 't is just a year,
Or will be, very soon,
Since first you told me of your love,
One glorious day in June.

All nature seemed to share our bliss, —
The skies hung warm above,
The winds from opening roses bore
The very breath of love!

We sought the still, deep forest shades,
Within whose leafy gloom
Few ardent sunbeams stole to kiss

Only one wife, Inkoos? Ha, it is strange.
But Kusawa has known it; he also had one.

Makumbo Rashumba went trading for cattle
To the kraal of Mudzingwa;
And I, too, went with him.

Mudzingwa the Bastard —
The blood of Wazulu
Was hot in his veins, and we traded with money;
For Makumbo, my father, had been to the mines.

To the kraal of Mudzingwa,
Four days from Matshanga,
We came, and we slept, and we talked with Mudzingwa;
On the morrow we talk'd; but I wearied of barter

I've waited patiently for you,
And now you come to make me glad;
I shall be ever good and true,
And be the dearest, sweetest dad.

You cheer my life with every smile,
And make me feel much like a bird
That flits and sings just all the while
Such songs as you have always heard.

You are the beacon light, my dear,
That guides me on the happy way;
Such love as yours I would not share,
But treasure in my heart all day.

I dream of you each eve and morn;
I picture you from distance far,

Death is no terror, friend!
It's a sublime sleep
That lulls the weary home
To rest — not to weep:
It is the solace of God —
A message for you
From those friends, gone before,
Those whose love is true.

The dream called death is not
The pain that you fear;
It's an ecstacy
Beyond man's compare;
'Tis life's joy — that's called
The Eternal Fair.

Air: Fainne Geal an Lae.

The hour has come to strike a blow
For Freedom and the Right,
And proudly, gladly do I go
To meet the coming fight,
In life or death, in joy or dree
No power can part us two,
And under God my thoughts shall be
Of Eirinn and of you.

The blackbird's song will fill the grove,
The thrush will pipe again,
And all the golden dreams we wove

Sweet enslaver! can you tell,
E're I learnt to love so well,
How my hours had wings to move,
All unbusied by my love!
'Tis amazement, now , to me,
What could then a pleasure be!
But you , like God , new sense can give,
And now, indeed, I feel, I live,

Oh! what pangs his breast alarm,
Whom soul and body, join , to charm!
Endless transports dance along,
Sweetly soft! or nobly strong!
Flaming fancy! cool reflection!
Fierce desire! and aw'd subjection!

Happy the man, who does Celinda view,
More happy he who sees, and loves her too;
Most happy , sure! of all mankind is he ,
Who, loving her, belov'd by her shall be.

Beloved, the briefest words are best;
And all the fine euphonious ways
In which the truth has been expressed
Since Adam's early Eden days,
Could never match the simple phrase, —
Sweetheart, I love you!

If I should say the world were blank
Without your face; if I should call
The stars to witness, rank on rank,
That I am true, although they fall, —
'T would mean but this, — and this means all, —
Sweetheart, I love you!

And so, whatever change is wrought
By time or fate, delight or dole,