love poetry

O wanderer heart! avoid that haunted grove,
The body of thy love;
Nor in her bosom stray, wild mountain fells
Where Love, the robber, dwells.

The landscape which the poet loves
is that of early May,
When budding greenness half concealed
enwraps each willow spray.
That beautiful embroidery
the days of summer yield,
Appeals to every bumpkin
who takes his walk afield.

THE LAST AGONY .

I love and hate. Ah, never ask why so!
I hate and love — and that is all I know.
I see 't is folly, but I feel 't is woe!

LIVE AND LOVE .

We'll live and love, my Lesbia, thou and I,
Not caring one brass-farthing (currency),
If aged scandal-mongers spread a tale,
Or if the strait-laced Puritans say " Fie! "
" The sun dies, " yes! to rise in death's despite;
But thou and I, when once the little light
Of our two lives is set, must sleep alway
The eternal sleep of one eternal night.

At lovely Yoshino
The mountain cherries here and there
Have begun to show.

The hat you loved, the damask trimmed reed-hat
Has fallen, fallen!
Into Kamo River, into the middle of the river.
And while I searched and while I sought
Day dawned, day dawned.
Oh, the rustling, rustling of that autumn night by the pools!

This is the dust of Timas, whom Persephone's dark chamber received, dead before her wedding; when she perished, all her fellows dressed with sharponed steel the lovely tresses of their heads .

O love! who gave thee thy superfluous name?
Loving and dying — is it not the same?

I have a fair daughter with a form like a golden flower, Cleis the beloved, above whom I [prize] nor all Lydia nor lovely [Lesbos] ...

Thou and my servant Love .