love poem

My Mary's eyes — my Mary's eyes —
What would I give, to be where they
Are looking blue as summer skies,
And shedding joy with ev'ry ray?

And then her little rosy lip,
That breathes my name with such a grace,
If I could now its nectar sip,
T'would brighten up this lonely place.

There's music in her roughest tone,
There's magic in her ev'ry motion.
I'd rather be with her alone,

Of love fayne woolde I frame my style
yett nott to flatter nor beguyle
For they that so theyr woords doo fyle
and use a glosinge kinde of vayne
Feele nott in deede that force of love
Nor yett so many torments prove
As from theyr brestes; your hartes to move
They forced sobbes and sorrowes fayne

Their careles truste their fayned awe
Is butt as fire thats made off strawe
Their teares they shedd and sighes they drawe
Are naughte butt winds and Apryll showers
Their dolefull songes off rare devyce

The coy Pastora Damon woo'd,
Damon the witty and the gay;
Damon, who never fair pursu'd
But she became an easy prey.
Yet, with this nymph, his ev'ry power
In vain he tries, no language moves;
Thus do we see the tender flower
Shrink from the sun whose warmth it loves.

II.

Piqued at the little angry puss,
Cry'd he, she sets me all on fire!

1

Love, oh love, oh careless love,
Love, oh love, oh careless love,
Oh it's love, oh love, oh careless love
You see what careless love has done.

2

Once I wore my apron low,
Once I wore my apron low,
Oh it's once I wore my apron low
You'd follow me through rain and snow.

3

Now I wear my apron high,
Now I wear my apron high,
Oh it's now I wear my apron high,
You'll see my door and pass it by.

4

I cried last night and the night before,

Passion is blind not Love: her wondrous might
Informs with three-fold pow'r man's inward sight: —
To her deep glance the soul at large displayed
Shews all its mingled mass of light and shade: —
Men call her blind when she but turns her head,
Nor scans the fault for which her tears are shed.
Can dull Indifference or Hate's troubled gaze
See through the secret heart's mysterious maze? —

Can Scorn and Envy pierce that " dread abode",
Where true faults rest beneath the eye of God?
Not theirs, 'mid inward darkness, to discern

My youthful compeer once was rosy Health
She led me forth beside the sparkling rills;
But Love by Fortune ruled came but by stealth,
And while my feet were bounding o'er the hills
This heart was heavy with a load of care;
Mine eyes turned inward on a shadowed mind:
That Lake was bright — but Henry was not there:
In vain does Nature smile when Love's unkind.

Youth shed around me his ethereal light;
Seen through those beams this face awhile seemed fair;
If not of heavenly mould 'twas soft and bright,

Your basket, with your lovely basket
your trowel, with your lovely trowel
girl, you who pick herbs on this hill,
speak of your house. Speak of your name.
In the Land of Yamato, seen from the sky,
it is I who conquer and reign
it is I who conquer and rule.
Let it be me who speaks
of my house and my name.

O, how, Love, must I fill
This dreary, dreary blank —
How do your eyes no ill,
Yet fully use my frank? —

By putting there a token
Of what you called a bliss,
When tender words were spoken —
When you asked me for a kiss!

The cat in love is pitiable,
Caterwauling from the beginning.

Come to the grave — the silent grave! and dream
Of a light, happy voice — so full of joy,
That those who heard her laugh, would laugh again,
Echoing the mirth of such an innocent spirit;
And pause in their own converse, to look round,
Won by the witchery of that gleesome tone.
Come to the grave — the lone dark grave! and dream
Of eyes whose brilliancy was of the soul,
Eyes which, with one bright flash from their dark lids,
Seemed at a glance to read the thoughts of others;
Or, with a full entire tenderness,