love poems for her

Yonder to the kiosk, beside the creek,
Paddle the swift caique.
Thou brawny oarsman with the sunburnt cheek,
Quick! for it soothes my heart to hear the Bulbul speak

Ferry me quickly to the Asian shores,
Swift bending to your oars.
Beneath the melancholy sycamores,
Hark! what a ravishing note the love-lorn Bulbul pours.

Behold! the bows seem quivering with delight,
The stars themselves more bright,
As 'mid the waving branches out of sight
The Lover of the Rose sits singing through the night.

" O LOVE , whom I so love, in this sore strait
Of thine, fall not! Below thy very feet
I kneel, so much I reverence thee, so sweet
It is to every pulse of mine to wait
Thy lightest pleasure, and to bind my fate
To thine by humblest service. Incomplete
All heaven, Love, if there thou dost not greet
Me, with perpetual need which I can sate,
I and no other! So I dare to pray
To thee this prayer. It is not wholly prayer.
The solemn worships of the ages lay
Even on God a solemn bond. I dare, —

FOR THE DRAMA OF " THE SPY. "

The harp of love, when first I heard
Its song beneath the moonlight tree,
Was echoed by his plighted word,
And ah, how dear its song to me;
But wailed the hour will ever be
When to the air the bugle gave,
To hush love's gentle minstrelsy,
The wild war music of the brave.

For he hath heard its song, and now
Its voice is sweeter than mine own;

SONNET.

IMITATED FROM THE ITALIAN OF P. SALANDRI .

TO A BRIDE.

The more divinely beautiful thou art,
Lady! of love's inconstancy beware;
Watch o'er thy charms, and with an angel's care
O guard thy maiden purity of heart:
At every whisper of temptation start;
The lightest breathings of unhallow'd air
Love's tender, trembling lustre will impair,
Till all the light of innocence depart.

Oh, love this house, and make of it a Home —
A cherished, hallowed place.
Root roses at its base, and freely paint
The glow of welcome on its smiling face!
For after friends are gone, and children marry,
And you are left alone . . .
The house you loved will clasp you to its heart,
Within its arms of lumber and of stone.

Oh, love this house, and make of it a Home —
A cherished, hallowed place.
Root roses at its base, and freely paint
The glow of welcome on its smiling face!

Think of me as your friend, I pray,
— And call me by a loving name;
I will not care what others say,
— If only you remain the same.
I will not care how dark the night;
— I will not care how wild the storm;
Your love will fill my heart with light
— And shield me close and keep me warm.

Think of me as your friend, I pray,
— For else my life is little worth:
So shall your memory light my way,
— Although we meet no more on earth.
For while I know your faith secure,
— I ask no happier fate to see:

Forgive me if I speak possessively of him
— Who now is yours, yet still is mine;
Call it the silver cord disparagingly
— And weave new colors in an old design,
Yet know the warp was started long ago
— By faltering steps, by syllable and sound,
By all the years in which I watched him grow. . . .
— By all the seasons' turnings are we bound.
But now, I loose the cord, untie the knot,
— Unravel years so he is yours alone
And if there is a message I forgot
— Or something that could help you had you known,

Wise men I hold those rakes of old
Who, as we read in antique story,
When lyres were struck and wine was poured,
Set the white Death's Head on the board —
Memento mori.

Love well! love truly! and love fast!
True love evades the dilatory.
Life's bloom flares like a meteor past;
A joy so dazzling cannot last —
Memento mori.

Stop not to pluck the leaves of bay
That greenly deck the path of glory,
The wreath will wither if you stay,
So pass along your earnest way —
Memento mori.

How well my heart remembers
Beside these camp-fire embers
The eyes that smiled so far away, —
The joy that was November's.

Her voice to laughter moving,
So merrily reproving, —
We wandered through the autumn woods,
And neither thought of loving.

The hills with light were glowing,
The waves in joy were flowing, —
It was not to the clouded sun
The day's delight was owing.

Though through the brown leaves straying,
Our lives seemed gone a-Maying;
We knew not Love was with us there,

A Sober ECLOGUE .

Between two of the People called Quakers.

CALEB. TABITHA.

Beneath the shadow of a beaver hat,
Meek Caleb at a silent meeting sate;
His eye-balls oft' forgot the holy trance,
While Tabitha demure, return'd the glance.
The Meeting ended, Caleb silence broke,
And Tabitha her inward yearnings spoke.

CALEB.

Beloved, see how all things follow love,
Lamb fondleth lamb, and dove disports with dove;