love poems for her

Upon a Diamond Cross,

WORN ON HER BOSOM BY MISS C.M.

Well on that neck, sweet Kitty! may you wear
The sparkling cross, with hopes to soften Heaven;
For trust me, tho' so very young and fair,
Thou hast some little sins to be forgiven: —
For all the hopes which wit and grace can spread,
For all the sighs which countless charms can move,
Fall, lovely Kitty! on thy youthful head;
Yet fall they gently — for the crime is love.

Sister, sweet sister, years have passed away,
Since first, 'mid warm hearts, sunny, frank and true,
I commenced rhyming on thy natal day,
On the green sod where Erin's shamrock grew.

'Twas in that age that ne'er returns again,
Whose tears are but as dew on Summer flowers;
And young, warm hearts beat kindly round us then,
And eyes beamed brightly, answering love to ours.

And now an exile from my native land,
Thinking of well remembered, loved Grace Hill,
To mine own sister verses I will send,

Who is the maid with silken hair
By clear Maine Water roaming?
For the fairy Queen is not so fair
As she in the lonely gloaming.

It is sweet Mysie of Bellee,
John Millar's lovely daughter;
She is waiting where the old elm tree
Droops over the sweet Maine Water.

" The trysting time has come and past,
The day is fast declining;
Oh my true love, are you coming fast,
For the star of love is shining? "

" The moon is bright, the ford is safe,
The market folks crossed over;

MADE FOR OUR AMUSEMENT ONE EVENING .

There was a little maiden,
And cross and proud was she,
And I loved her very much,
And she loved me!

She determined to live single,
And I begged and prayed her not,
So at last she married me,
And I pitied her hard lot,

There was another maiden
Who hated me, and I
Hated her — she loved her lover

Soft o'er the meadow, and murmuring mere,
Falleth a shadow, near and more near;
Day like a white dove floats down the sky,
Cometh the night, love, darkness is high;
So dies the happiest day.

Slow in thy dark eye riseth a tear,
Hear I thy sad sigh, Sorrow is near;
Hope smiling bright, love, dies on my breast,
As day like a white dove flies down the west;
So dies the happiest day.

Gently fall the snow-flakes
From the clouds above,
Noiselessly and joyously
As the breath of love,
Noiseless in their gaiety,
Gentle in their mirth,
As they spread their robes of purity
Softly o'er the earth.

Beauteous types of Innocence!
Delicately fair
As the thoughts of Angels
Hov'ring in the air:
Not less pure and innocent
Is each little dove, —
Each joyous, sparkling snow-drop
In the cot of Love.

Yes, prattling little Children!
Germs of Love are ye,

SET TO MUSIC BY MR. VOIGHT.

What do I love? A polish'd mind,
A temper cheerful, meek, and kind;
A graceful air, unsway'd by art,
A voice that sinks into the heart,
A playful and benignant smile —
Alas! my heart responds the while,
All this, my Emily, is true,
But I love more in loving you!

I love those roses when they rise,
From joy, from anger, or surprise;
I love the kind, attentive zeal,
So prompt to know what others feel,

I SAMUEL, XV .

" Surely the bitterness of death is past, "
Cried he whose safety Saul the sovereign willed
When all the blood of Amalek else was spilled
And at his nation's grave he stood, the last.
But Samuel came with countenance overcast,
With wrath aroused and charity all chilled,
And there before the Lord was Agag killed,
Hewed into pieces by the Enthusiast.

Death has ordained thee out of all my dreams
And dealt me bitter check to my pursuit;
My sunlight fails while tears are absolute,
And night falls ever chill, with scanty gleams
From clouded stars that mock the dull moon's beams.
My summer land, long fair with flowers and fruit,
Far cumbered lies with rotted branch and root,
In dismal fields by hopeless stagnant streams.
Death has redeemed thee out of toilsome days
And bound thy harvest in a single sheaf,
While I went forward over saddened ways

Once Reason, calm, majestic maid,
Thro' bosky gloom of garden strayed —
A garden planned in every part
To please the mind yet scarce the heart.
'Tis true the level walks, the bowers,
Were gemmed with all the fairest flowers
That royal Nature's bounteous hand
Had flung upon that radiant land,
Where Summer kisses Summer's lips,
And all the year the brown bee sips
His nectar from the chain of flowers
That stretches o'er those sunny hours,
And finds no missing link of bloom
To cloud his busy life with gloom.