love poem

A Sonet, wherin is showne the straunge effectes of love.

In care I joy, my mirth is mov'd by mone,
With flouds of want I weare to ebbe my wo;
Appayd I rest in restlesse griefe to grone,
By fainting hope my friendly hap doth growe:
In waves of bale I bathe in wished blisse,
My wealth in woe, in paine my pleasure is.

But how these hang, if so she search my harme,
These fewe suffice the same to shew (my sweete):
To rayse her joy my selfe I wholy arme,
To freese or fry as she shall deeme it meete,

The Lover attributeth his curelesse wound to chaunce, by loving long.

Long have I lost my libertie,
Alas! through love (long) have I so.
(Long) have I stoode in jeopardie.
In loving (long) through pyning woe,
Whose constant truth long hath ben tryde,
Though (long) his suit hath ben denyde.

My batterie (long) the brasen wall
The cannon shot doth cleane deface,
The longest trees in time doe fall,
Which (long) before bad Boreas base:
The little brooke in running (long)
Doth turne into a river strong.

Dom Diego, a Spaniard, falling in love with faire Genevora, was, in the prime of his fancies, with like love by Genevora friendly acquainted. Afterwards Genevora (else where fancying) had Dom Diego in such disdaine, as still she crost both his suite and service with scorne.

The following verses are found on page 45 of the Diary. They are without title and without comment save the date attached.
Faith, love, hope,
Reach the goal
Through quiet modesty.
What God hates, avoid
To bow down, to suffer, to endure,
Bring us happiness.

What God commands to believe
This no one shall take from me
In spite of all the lack of faith.
What God's word bids us love
That I will daily practice
Throughout my pilgrim's time.

When my time has passed,
Then I find my hopes;

Love-born, the child in grace and strength immortal
Increased with years for service of her time;
She came each day to some new wonder-portal,
Thresholds of life and thoughts of things sublime.
Through all the silence of her soul was ringing
The song of life the heart of God was singing.

The stream into the ocean flows unceasing;
All things are greater for renewing strife;
True wealth is spending, using is increasing,

Eve's purple dust sinks to its golden urn
Where in the west, the sun's red banners burn.

The wigwam's smoke that warms the pillared air
Mounts in a shaft to greet the sunset glare;

Soon, on the night is lifted high, afar,
Serene, intense, one iridescent star;

And in the dark is heard a maiden's prayer; —
The heart of Love is listening everywhere.

In the northern skies clear-shining,
Once, a star with emerald-gleam
Loved a chieftain's peerless daughter
By the great north-flowing stream.

Hair of ruby dipt in darkness
Blent with sunrise as with fire;
Eyes elate with love's young glory,
Deep with light of love's desire.

Cheek of nut-brown shadow glinted
With a blush of crimson glow;
Form elusive, spirit daring
As an arrow from the bow.

And the north land loved this daughter
Of the fragrant forest-wild,

'T WAS on one morn in springtime weather,
A rosy, warm, inviting hour,
That Love and Faith went out together,
And took the path to Beauty's bower.
Love laugh'd and frolick'd all the way,
While sober Faith, as on they rambled,
Allow'd the thoughtless boy to play,
But watch'd him, wheresoe'er he gambolled.

So warm a welcome, Beauty smiled
Upon the guests whom chance had sent her,
That Love and Faith were both beguiled
The grotto of the nymph to enter;
And when the curtains of the skies

I knew not how I loved thee — no!
I knew it not till all was o'er —
Until thy lips had told me so —
Had told me I must love no more!
I knew not how I loved thee! — yet
I long had loved thee wildly well!
I thought 'twere easy to forget —
I thought a word would break the spell:

And even when that word was spoken,
Ay! even till the very last,
I thought, that spell of faith once broken,
I could not long lament the past.
Oh, foolish heart! Oh, feeble brain,
That love could thus deceive — subdue!

Alas! if she be false to me
It is for her alone I weep!
'Tis that in coming years I see
Her suffering from such frailty
Than mine , oh, far more deep!

So tender, yet so false withal,
So proud, and yet so frail,
Responding to each flatterer's call,
Loving, yet often blind to all
Of love that could not fail —
Oh who will watch her wayward soul,
Who minister when I am gone,