love poetry

Love was before the light began,
When light is over, love shall be;
O warm hand in the grave, O bridge of truth,
O ivy's tooth
Eating the green heart of the tree

SCENE — Garden and Bower by the Sea.

E LISSA , alone . Come, Festus, let me think ou thee, my love!
And fold the thought of thee unto my soul,
Until it fills it, and is one with it.
Ah! these poor arms are far from where they should be;
And this heart further still. Mine only love!
Why art thou thus so long away from me?
I have whispered it unto the southern wind
And charged it with my love: why should it not
Carry that love to thee as air bears light?
And thou hast said I was all light to thee.

SCENE — A Drawing Room .

F ESTUS and E LISSA .

F ESTUS . Who says he loves and is not wretched, lies;
Or that love is madness came mad from his mother.
'T is the most reasonable thing in nature.
What can we do but love? It is our cup.
Love is the cross and passion of the heart,
Its end — its errand. In the name of God,
What made us love, Elissa?
E LISSA . I know not.
I am not happy. I have wept all day.

SCENE — A Large Party and Entertainment .

F ESTUS , Ladies , and O THERS .

F ESTUS . My Helen! let us rest awhile,
For most I love thy calmer smile;
We'll not be missed from this gay throng,
They dance so eagerly and long;
And were one half to go away,
I'll bet the rest would scarce perceive it.
H ELEN . With thee I either go or stay,
Prepared, the same, to like or leave it.
These two, perhaps, will take our places.

137

With Cords of love God often strove
your stubborn hearts to tame:
Nevertheless your wickedness,
did still resist the same
If now at last Mercy be past
from you for evermore,
And Justice come in Mercies room,
yet grudge you not therefore.

138

If into wrath God turned hath
his long long suffering,
And now for love you vengeance prove,

Blaspheme not love, ye lovers, nor dispraise
The wise divinity that makes you blind,
Sealing the eyes, but showing to the mind
The high perfection from which nature strays.
For love is God, and in unfathomed ways
Brings forth the beauty for which fancy pined.
I loved, and lost my love among mankind;
But I have found it after many days.
Oh, trust in God, and banish rash despair,
That, feigning evil, is itself the curse!
My angel is come back, more sad and fair,
And witness to the truth of love I bear,

Love not as do the flesh-imprisoned men
Whose dreams are of a bitter bought caress,
Or even of a maiden's tenderness
Whom they love only that she loves again.
For it is but thyself thou lovest then,
Or what thy thoughts would glory to possess;
But love thou nothing thou wouldst love the less
If henceforth ever hidden from thy ken.
Love but the formless and eternal Whole
From whose effulgence one unheeded ray
Breaks on this prism of dissolving clay
Into the flickering colours of thy soul.

Come! in thy veil of ashen cloud
With mists around thee, like a shroud,
And wan face colored with no light
Of sun or moon, by day or night;
I would not see thee glad and gay,
Dark month! that called my Love away!

I would not see thee otherwise,
Gray month! that hast the dying eyes;
Cold month! that com'st with icy hands
Chaining the waters and the lands!
So didst thou chill two hearts at play,
Dark month! that called my Love away!

And yet, I know, behind thy mists

… The astonished nymphs their flood's strange fate deplore,
To see themselves their own severer shore.
Thou that alone canst thaw this cold,
And fetch the heart from its stronghold,
Almighty Love! end this long war,
And of a meteor make a star.
Oh, fix this fair indefinite,
And, 'mongst thy shafts of sovereign light
Choose out that sure decisive dart
Which has the key of this close heart,
Knows all the corners of't, and can control
The self-shut cabinet of an unsearched soul …
Disband dull fears, give faith the day;

When thou thy pliant Arms dost wreath
About my Neck, and gently breath
Into my Breast that soft sweet Air
With which thy Soul doth mine repair,
When my faint Life thou draw'st away,
My Life which scorching Flames decay,
Orecharg'd my panting Bosom boyles,
Whose Feavour thy kind Art beguiles,
And with the Breath that did inspire
Doth mildly fan my glowing Fire,
Transported then I cry, above
All other Deities is Love!
Or if a Deity there be
Greater then Love, 'tis onely Thee.