love poetry

La fuite de l'Amour

I see already that thy wings are spread;
Ah, Love, adieu! my prime of life hath fled:
The fickle Graces now, with mocking look,
Their fingers point at my deserted nook.
If once I cursed the might that in thee lies,
Knew I, alas, that thou wouldst thus chastise?
Ah, Love! the more the tears which thou hast cost,
The more we mourn for thee when thou art lost.

In childhood's slumber calmly I reposed,
When at thy voice mine eyes were first unclosed;
In Beauty I adored thy sovereign sway,

She died, as many travellers have died,
O'ertaken on an Alpine road by night;
Numbed and bewildered by the falling snow,
Striving, in spite of failing pulse, and limbs
Which faltered and grew feeble at each step,
To toil up the icy steep, and bear
Patient and faithful to the last, the load
Which, in the sunny morn, seemed light!
And yet
'Twas in the place she called her home, she died;
And they who loved her with the all of love

Love guides our bark, and we have naught to fear.
We are the world ourselves, and as we glide
Upon the stream of life, if Love but steer,
We care not how tempestuous the tide.

Thy head leans on my shoulder, and my arm
Is round thee clasped. Thine eyes upturn to mine,
So full of faith the future feels their charm
Blunting Fate's dart that threatens joy of thine.

O Love! thy tresses wind about my sense,
Thy glances melt my soul, and thy ripe lips
Seem morning roses, red and dewy, whence

Dear Saviour, I will love thee,
Thou art my All in All;
Around me let thy mercy,
In plenteous showers fall.
At morning, noon and evening,
My prayers ascend to thee;
And in my secret chamber,
I 'll pray thee, strengthen me.
Receive me, blessed Jesus,
I come, I come to thee!
Oh, let thy loving kindness
Sustain and strengthen me,
I love thee, I love thee,
My Saviour and my King.
I can not live without thee,
Without thee dare not die;
But trusting working, praying,
I'll meet thee by and by.

Praise the name of our Re-deemer,
Name above all others blest;
Name that thrills the heart with gladness,
Name that bids the weary rest.
Tell his goodness and his mercy,
Tell of his undying love;
Tell the story of his glory
Sung by angel hosts above.
Laud and magnify his greatness,
Tell his power, love and might;
Until all of his creation
Join the paean of delight.

Praise his name his glorious name!
Majestic is the sound!
Let songs of praise arise
Wherever man is found.

TO CHARLOTTE M — — .

Thou art but in life's morning, and as yet
The world looks witchingly; its fruits and flowers
Are fair and fragrant, and its beauteous bowers
Seem haunts of happiness before thee set,
All lovely, as a landscape freshly wet
With dew, or bright with sunshine after showers,
Where pleasure dwells, and Flora's magic powers
Woo thee to pluck a peerless coronet.

O Zion! lovely Zion! thou city of the faithful,
How often with rapture thy praises we sing,!
Where millions of redeemed ones are dwelling now in brightness,
And praising forever our Saviour and King.
O Zion! lovely Zion! thou carest for the lowly,
Thy banner of mercy still waving we see;
Thy watchmen thou art sending with tidings, joyful tidings,
To gather the lost ones and bring them to thee.
O Zion! lovely Zion!
Oh, when shall we behold thee,
Thy beauty and splendor forever to share;

Thou demi-god of Rome, whose fame
Down twenty centuries comes to me,
How burns my soul to be like thee
Whene'er I hear thy mighty name!

Fades Shakespeare; fade those kings of song,
Blind Homer, Milton the divine,
The Mantuan and the Florentine.
Allures no more that laureled throng.

Them I revere, but thee I love,
O Julius, this the spirit's truth,
Who, pale and dissolute in thy youth,
In manhood the strong world didst move.

Yes, thee I love, thou rulest my thought,
Great Master of both pen and sword;

They were here,
The pallid forms —
What hidden light
Which caused its throne ...

O song of the night-field,
What strain can it be?
Therein silent suffer
Not to feel so close to thee.

We were together
From sap to heaven,
The change from within
Suspired hearts given.

As the cocoanut-palm
That pines, my love,
Away from the sound
Of the planter's voice,
Am I, for I hear
No more resound
Your song by the pearl-strewn sea!
The sun may come
And the moon wax round,
And in its beam
My mates rejoice,
But I feast not
And my heart is dumb,
As I long, oh long, for thee!

In the jungle-deeps,
Where the cobra creeps,
The leopard lies
In wait for me,
But oh, my love,
When the daylight dies