love poetry

F ORGIVENESS may then yet be mine,
The sinless lips have said " Forgiven; "
Pardon is then a right Divine,
And love indeed the law of heaven.

" But can the sullied snow grow white?
What spell can seal the memory fast?
What has been ever must have been ,
The Almighty cannot change the past.

" His eyes, though piercing as the light,
In pity may refuse to see;
But what can make my memory white?

He prized her love, He held it dear,
He felt each ministering touch,
He marked each gift she offered there,
He cared that she should love Him " much . "

His pity was no careless alms
The happy to the wretched fling;
He prized her love, her tears, her balms,
Then life was yet a precious thing;

Precious the love He held of price,
Precious each moment which might bring
Some privilege of sacrifice,

The very stars will rise and swing,
More radiant censors in the air,
No shadow fall on anything,
The red rose paint itself more fair,
So brief the hours, divine their sum,
When love is come, when love is come.

Beauty will fail from earth and sky,
Fragrance and song will lose their dower,
The world in dark eclipse will lie,
And all things wither in that hour
When still the heart beats on and on,
And love is gone, and love is gone.

When the spring-time came, I said,
“Spring, I love you—love you best.”
Columbines were gold and red,
Winds flowers hung each timid head;
By warm rains and sunshine fed
Every root was comforted,
Every slumbering leaf was guessed
“Spring,” I vowed, “I love you best!”

When the summer came, I said,
“Summer, dear, I love you most.”
Butterflies their wide wings spread;
Crowds of starry daisies sped
Where their wandering seeds were led;
Shining planets overhead
Through the heavenly spaces fled.

Waken, birds, for the day is waking,
And the sky is a sea of light;
Waken, blossom, thy dreams forsaking,
Now 'tis no longer night.

Waken, heart, and sing to His praise
Who decrees that thou shouldst guess,
From the sacred blessing love brings always,
Of heaven's deep blessedness!

The grasses all were lifeless, sere, and dry;
Barren the boughs, where leaves had lent their shade;
In every empty nest the snow heaped high
And water-courses in their flight were stayed;
And all the dumb and stricken solitude
Was like some undiscovered arctic zone,
Where no flower grew, where no bird reared her brood;
When presently, in silvery monotone,
The frozen streams began to sing their chimes;
As by some bold and swift enchantment wrought,
Such as we read of, in far fairy climes,

Tell it, O wind, from morning till night,
Whisper it, warble it, sound its delight,
And you, O roses, beneath your blushes,
Breathe it soon to the listening thrushes,
And thrushes, be sure you carol it sweet,
Till the echoes, themselves, are fain to repeat!

Oh, wandering tide, with your silver fret,
Float it wherever your feet are set;
And you, O sea, with your thunder tone,
Pass it onward, from zone to zone,—
And to all the earth the secret tell,
That my lover, he loves me, he loves me well!

I LOVED illustrious cities and the crowds
That eddy through their incandescent nights.
I loved remote horizons with far clouds
Girdled, and fringed about with snowy heights.
I loved fair women, their sweet, conscious ways
Of wearing among hands that covet and plead
The rose ablossom at the rainbow's base
That bounds the world's desire and all its need.
Nature I worshipped, whose fecundity
Embraces every vision the most fair,
Of perfect benediction. From a boy
I gloated on existence. Earth to me

Canto III.

The Girdle, or Love-Token.

1.

Short Taste of Pleasures , how dost thou torment
A liquorish Soul, when once inflam'd by thee!
Desire's sweet-cruel edge might soon relent
Didst thou not whet it to that keen degree
That nothing but complete fruition will
The longing of its wakened stomach fill.

2.

The Seaman, who hath with unwearied pain
Wrought through a thousand storms, and gain'd the sight

I SEND you roses—red, like love,
And white, like death, sweet friend:
Born in your bosom to rejoice,
Languish, and droop, and end.

If the white roses tell of death,
Let the red roses mend
The talk with true stories of love
Unchanging till the end.

Red and white roses, love and death—
What else is left to send?
For what is life but love, the means,
And death, true Wife, the end?