love poem

The king of day unveiled, when skies are clear,
Thy path assigned may cross his noon-tide face;
Our eyes, awaiting thee, may gauge the space
Which severs thine from his remoter sphere,
And ours from both — how far beyond, and yet how near.
Thee, millions hail; in every distant place
The Star of Love, to each admiring race,
Throughout all times, in thee, united here.
The same, thou reignest in the flushing dawn;
Or sinking in the west at golden eve,
The glad Precursor of a day new-born;

I Love a Nymph. A lack a day!
But dare not say I love her.
Perhaps she may thy love repay;
Speak then thy thoughts, and prove her.

If I reveal, and she reject
My love, I'm quite undone.
Weomen when we do least expect,
We see are often wonne.

True, but her state great flocks requires,
Mine are but poor and small.
Peace Fool, love onely love desires
And nothing else at all.

[Chorus for three together]

They who do love for private gain,

Mary sings: the ravished heavens
Hush the music of their spheres;
Soft her voice, her beauty fairer
Than the glancing stars appears:
While to Jesus, slumbering nigh,
Thus she sings her lullaby:

" Sleep my Babe, my God, my Treasure,
Gently sleep: but ah, the sight
With its beauty so transports me,
I am dying of delight:
Thou canst not thy Mother see,
Yet thou breathest flames to me.

" If within your lids unfolded,
Slumbering eyes, you seem so fair;
When upon my gaze you open,

Some love for wealth and some for hue,
And none of both these loves are true;
For when the mill hath lost her sailes,
Then must the miller lose his vailes:
Of grass comes hay,
And flowers faire will soon decay:
Of ripe comes rotten,
In age all beautie is forgotten.

Some love too high and some too lowe,
And of them both great griefs do growe;
And some do love the common sort,
And common folk use common sport.
Look not too high,
Lest that a chip fall in thine eye:
But high or lowe,

If men were fashioned of the stone,
Then might they never yield to love —
But fashioned as they are, they owne
(On earth, as in the realme above,)
That Beauty, in perfection stil
Controls the thoughts, impels the wil.

And sure 'twere vaine to stemme the tide
Of passion surging in the breast —
Since fierce ambition, stubborn pryde
Have each the sovereigne power confest;
Which rolleth on, despite al staie,
Sweeping ilk prudent shifte awaye.

What though the mayden that we love

" UPLIFT the Gonfanons of war — exalt the ruddy Rood —
Arise ye winds and bear me on against the Paynim brood!
Farewell to forest-cinctured halls, farewell to song and glee,
For toilsome march and clash of swords in glorious Galilee!
And grace to thee, haught damoisel — I ask no parting tear —
Another love may greet thee when I'm laid upon my bier!

" My bark upon the foaming flood shall bound before the gale,
Like arrow in its flight, until the Holy Land we hail;
Then firmly shall our anchors grasp the belt of Eastern land,

O L IFE'S ringing morn! O season divine!
What though thou art vanished, we shall not repine,
We yesterday loved, and to-day 'tis the same,
And to-morrow we'll love with unchangeable flame.

Once, a troop of wild Burschen, so frolic and gay,
We went to the village to welcome the May;
To each door came the maidens, all laughing, to see;
Then, darling, thou laughed, but in secret on me.

At the May-feast, thou gavest — O moment of bliss! —
Thy hand to my pressure, thy lip to my kiss;

Ah ! love ye one another well,
For the hour will come
When one of you is lying dumb;
Ye would give worlds then for a word,
That never may be heard;
Ye would give worlds then for a glance,
That may be yours by ne'er a chance;
Ah! love ye one another well!

For if ye wrung a tear,
Like molten iron it will sear;
The look that proved you were unkind
With hot remorse will be blind;
And though you pray to be forgiven,
How will ye know that ye are shriven?
Ah! love ye one another well!

COULD love impart,
By nicest art,
To speechless rocks a tongue, —
Their theme would be,
Beloved, of thee, —
Thy beauty, all their song.

And, clerklike, then,
With sweet amen,
Would echo from each hollow
Reply all day;
While gentle fay,
With merry whoop, would follow.

Had roses sense,
On no pretence
Would they their buds unroll;
For, could they speak,
'Twas from thy cheek

FIRST LOVER

Love that is spoken often dies,
Quick as the light in evening skies,
Or as a song upon the ear,
And leaves no answering spirit near:
Wilt thou be true? Shall I ne'er rue
My plighted faith? Wilt thou be true?

ECHO

Wilt thou be true?

SECOND LOVER

That doubt, O maiden, do not name!
Changeless as yon eternal flame
My spirit evermore shall be