love poetry

Song

1

On a bank, beside a willow,
Heaven her cov'ring, earth her pillow,
Sad Amynta sighed alone;
From the cheerless dawn of morning,
Till the dews of night returning,
Singing thus she made her moan:
" Hope is banished,
Joys are vanished,
Damon my beloved is gone!

2

Time, I dare thee to discover
Such a youth, and such a lover;

The heliotrope's fragrant breath —
The subtle sweet of jasmine on the evening air —
The flowery mead, all radiant
With sympathetic pleasure
From the glowing kiss with which
The God of Day salutes its lovely face —
The whispering, snowy surf, wherewith
Old Ocean in his kindliest mood
Murmurs soft secrets to the willing sands —
The mingled joy and anguish thrilling us
In the weird plaints of Schubert —
Great Rossini's heaven-born strains —
All graceful, lovely things,
Lifting my soul to beatific state, —

Love ran with me, then walk'd, then sate,
Then said " Come, come! it grows too late: "
And then he would have gone . . but . . no . .
You caught his eye; he could not go.

You see the worst of love, but not the best,
Nor will you know him till he comes your guest.
Tho' yearly drops some feather from his sides,
In the heart's temple his pure torch abides.

Because the moonlight deceives
Therefore I love it.

Look, Dear, how bright the moonlight is to-night!
See where it casts the shadow of that tree
Far out upon the grass. And every gust
Of light night wind comes laden with the scent
Of opening flowers which never bloom by day:
Night-scented stocks, and four o'clocks, and that
Pale yellow disk, upreared on its tall stalk,
The evening primrose, comrade of the stars.
It seems as though the garden which you love
Were like a swinging censer, its incense
Floating before us as a reverent act
To sanctify and bless our night of love.

Why from the danger did mine eyes not start, —
Why not become even blind, — ere through my sight
Within my soul thou ever couldst alight
To say: " Dost thou not hear me in thy heart?"
New torment then, the old torment's counterpart,
Filled me at once with such a sore affright,
That, Lady, lady, (I said,) destroy not quite
Mine eyes and me! O help us where thou art!
Thou hast so left mine eyes, that Love is fain —
Even Love himself — with pity uncontroll'd
To bend above them, weeping for their loss:

Loving the breeze on clifftops, I climb to a shelter of pines,
entranced by moonlight, beside the pond sit on a stone ledge,
and with these clouds and fountains I form bonds of karma —
in another life, certain to be a monk of this mountain!

In the ninth month when west winds blow,
when moonlight is cold and dew blossoms congeal,
I think of you all the long autumn night —
in one night my spirit leaps up nine times.
In the second month when the east wind comes,
when grasses sprout and the hearts of flowers unfold,
I think of you through the slow spring days —
one day and my heart takes nine turnings.
I live north of Lo River bridge,
you live south of Lo River bridge.
Since I was fifteen I've known you,
and this year I'll be twenty-three.

What I fancy, I approve,
No Dislike there is in love:
Be my Mistresse short or tall,
And distorted there-withall:
Be she likewise one of those,
That an Acre hath of Nose:
Be her forehead, and her eyes
Full of incongruities:
Be her cheeks so shallow too,
As to shew her Tongue wag through:
Be her lips ill hung, or set,
And her grinders black as jet;
Ha's she thinne haire, hath she none,
She's to me a Paragon .