love poems for her

Voice that blesses, eyes that light,
Vision on the vestal height,
Bright One,
White One,
Lead aright!

Chaste as lily, mild as dove,
Brave as eagle, fair as love,
Fold us,
Hold us,
Lead above!

Mystic mountains all untrod
We shall pass, with patience shod;
Featly,
Sweetly,

Ye walls, for gallantry and knighthood fam'd,
Which oft with sounds of social pleasure rung;
Ye groves and lawns, where Waller's tuneful tongue
To gales and murm'ring streams his love proclaim'd,
And each wild echo Sacharissa nam'd;
Your white cascades, with foamy tumult flung
Down the steep slope, and glades so sweetly sung;
No poet now explores with feet unblam'd.
Yet suffer me to breathe your vernal gales,
A poet, no! but of that gentle train,
Who love to mark in woods and pathless vales

The longest night of the year, they say;
By four of the clock, the dark comes down,
And the hills loom dim and far away,
While the lights wink out in the big, vague town.

And yet, O Love, of the nights I know,
This night was briefest, — so brief, so blest.
For you came and gave me your heart, and so
Time was nothing and darkness best!

When Love and Beauty wander away,
And there's no more hearts to be sought and won,
When the old earth limps thro' the dreary day,
And the work of the Seasons cry undone:
Ah! what shall we do for a song to sing,
Who have known Beauty, and Love, and Spring?

When Love and Beauty wander away,
And a pale fear lies on the cheeks of youth,
When there's no more goal to strive for and pray,
And we live at the end of the world's untruth:
Ah! what shall we do for a heart to prove,
Who have known Beauty, and Spring, and Love?

A LONG comes Love,
In the semblance of a boy,
And he rings a little bell,
And he sings a little song:
Lo, the change thereof!
Heaven after hell,
Beauty healing wrong,
And grief turned joy!

At times, when, with an anguish all too keen,
The violin doth tensely tell of grief,
Tugging at heart-strings till the tale, I ween,
Is over-cruel, calls for some relief:
I joy to hear, like cooings of lost doves,
The grave viola plaining of old loves.

Castor and Pollux, tuneful Muse, now sing;
The offspring of the cloud-compelling king,
When on Taygetus' high-rising crest
The son of Saturn lovely Leda press'd.
Hail, ye Tyndaridae, well skill'd to train
The fiery courser for the' embattled plain.

A SONG OF LIFE

A SONG , boys, a song!
Life is young yet,
Love has tongue yet;
Why should Life and Love go wrong?
Come, boys, a song!

A song, boys, a song!
Life's at flush still,
Love's ablush still;
What though cares and curses throng?
Come, boys, a song!

A song, boys, a song!
Death is here soon,
Death will cheer soon,
Death is nigh, and Love is strong;
So, boys, a song!

Welcome , mine own!
Welcome, mine own! Wit and his company :

O lady dear,
Be ye so near
To be known?
My heart you cheer
Your voice to hear;
Welcome, mine own. Science and her Company :

As ye rejoice
To hear my voice
From me thus blown,
So in my choice
I show my voice
To be your own. Wit and his Company :

Then draw we near
To see and hear
My love long grown!

I MAKE apprizal of the maiden moon
For what she is to me:
Not a great globe of cheerless stone
That hangs in awful space alone,
And ever so to be;
But just the rarest orb,
The very fairest orb,
The star most lovely-wise
In all the dear night-skies!
So thou to me, O jestful girl of June!
I have no will to hear
Cold calculations of thy worth
Summed up in beauty, brain, and birth:
Such coldly strike mine ear.
Thou art the rarest one,
The very fairest one,
The soul most lovely-wise