love poems for her

When men inrich thy neck with praise,
And glories which no rose displays,
Thy arms which wax do imitate,
My gall impostum'd swels with hate:
I burn while sots thy skin defile,
And rosebuds in thy lips do spoil:
To leave love-marks, trust me in vain,
They love not, who dare lips prophane.
Ah be not prodigal of blisse!
Venus makes Nectar of a kisse.
Happy thrice, nay more, for ever:
Where loves chain is broken never;
Nor rash complaint, a linck can force,
While death sues forth a long divorce.

A CANTATA .

From the high mount, whence sacred groves depend,
Diana and her virgin-troop descend;
And while the buskin'd maids with active care,
The business of the daily chase prepare,
A favourite nymph steps forward from the throng,
And thus, exulting, swells the jocund song:

" Jolly Health springs aloft at the loud sounding horn,
Unlock'd from soft Slumber's embrace;
And Joy sings an hymn to salute the sweet morn,

Lice complain not if I fly,
Since fate forbids a Sympathy.
Could Infant spring and winter meet,
I'de covet Lices winding sheet;
And wed a monument with thee,
A parchment cloth'd Anatomie.
Whom ev'n but touch'd would ashes turn;
Nor cures your snow, if love ere burn;
Nor suppositions cold sweats free,
Where each touch prompts an Agonie.
Importunate love dry oakes oreflies,
To wanton in Euphormia's eyes;
But thine affrighted in are fled,
To seek where he lies buried:
Whom Stibium thence can never raise;

AND A PETITION TO THE FAIRIES TO BRING INDIFFERENCE .

Y E fairy Elves from every cell,
I warn you to repair,
From those in acorn cups who dwell,
To those in coral chair;
Indifference bid his poppy give
To calm this aching head,
And o'er the feelings that will live
Its opiate juices shed.
Then anxious thoughts shall disappear,
The wayward wishes die;
And every forward starting tear

Gilt pictures Papists for devotion use;
To raise my fancy gilded skin I choose:
No face I see but yellow doth commend;
An Angel is the fee doth th' Cause befriend.
What mad man silver would to gold compare?
Shall we praise white 'fore those that yellow are?
I prais'd a golden skin, but fanci'd there
The gold that reall in her virtues were.
Or 'twas the Image I did there behold
Of what I lov'd; an El'zabeth in Gold.
Say not the yellow Jaundies in my eye,
Or that I new broach Magus heresie:

Tibullus, Gallus , and Propertius be
Froth'd like Loves Goddesse out of vanity.
These to Lusts Idols do but Altars rear,
And kindle flames of hell while we are here.

I.

S OME folks, there are, gang trig, and fine,
In silks, and sattins, idly flaming;
But She I love, is all divine,
Their artfu' toil, and dresses shaming.
Gin, She were but a cottage-Lass,
And I, a Shepherd boy;
I'd let those tempting Damsels, pass,
Sweet Ann of Aughnacloy.

II.

My Annie's locks, as sunbeams, bright,
Her e'en, sa' mild, Love's starry seat,

I.

GREAT LOVE IS HUMBLE.

HUMBLE is Love, for he is Honor's child:
He knows the worth of her he does adore,
And that high reckoning humbles him the more:
By her dear sweetness from his pain beguiled,
He would be proud because her look is mild;
But all the while he scans the oft-told score,
And his imperfectness must still deplore,
Abashed no less because on him she smiled.

To be allowed to love is Love's dear prize:
To lay his homage at Her royal feet —

I.

A H , fair Florelia, wilt thou, still unkind,
Affection's aching heart, with anguish fill,
Tear every nerve of his too feeling mind,
And bid his sad breast exquisitely thrill.

II.

My midnight dream, my lovely pride all day,
My tender tyrant, my corroding balm,
Could my dumb pillow speak, what would it say?
Could tears, and glowing pray'rs thy anger calm?

III.

O PASSER-BY, draw near!
Upon a grave I grow;
That she who died was dear
They planted me to show.

Pluck me as you go by —
I am her messenger;
With her sweet breath I sigh;
In me her pulses stir.

Through these my quivering leaves
She fain would speak to you —
She whom the grave bereaves
Of the dear life she knew.

" How glad I was up there! "
She whispers underground.
" Have they who found me fair
Some other fair one found?

" Has he who loved me best