love poem

Among all the millions of human eyes the chosen pair in sweetness. Smooth hair, fragrant like soul — and above it the aureole of love.
A forehead, clear as a child's thought, and hands that never did caress me yet, and lips, where only truth is spoken and where every word is sweet song.
And in the two-and-twenty year old breast a heart that knew of no sin, and where the breath of the god of love daily writes anew his Tenth Commandment.
And in the blessed, deep heart a stream of pity for my sea of pain.

Brownstone the house, the balconies blue; there lives a lady, a lovely little lady. Lilac is her gown, love her words and joy: blue ringlets on crystal mirrors. O lady mine, lady of time a-gone .
Lilac silk the gown and vine brocade the trail; blue ribbons in the curly flaxen braids; white fingers among the coral strings — white little daggers in her heart for me. And words: blue ringlets on crystal mirrors. O lady mine, lady of time a-gone .

I will not make a sonnet from
Each little private martyrdom;
Nor out of love left dead with time
Construe a stanza or a rhyme.

We do not suffer to afford
The searched for and the subtle word:
There is too much that may not be
At the caprice of prosody.

I

Love looked back as he took his flight,
And lo, his eyes were filled with tears.
Was it for love of lost delight
Love looked back as he took his flight?
Only I know while day grew night,
Turning still to the' vanished years,
Love looked back as he took his flight,
And lo, his eyes were filled with tears.

II

If you were Lady Beatrice
And I the Florentine,
I 'd never waste my time like this —

I

There is no one beside thee, and no one above thee;
Thou standest alone, as the nightingale sings!
And my words that would praise thee are impotent things,
For none can express thee, though all should approve thee.
I love thee so, dear, that I only can love thee.

II

Say, what can I do for thee? Weary thee, grieve thee?
Lean on thy shoulder, new burdens to add?

O how can I be blythe and free

1

O how can I be blythe and free
While thou art from my side
There's more in one kind smile from thee
Than all the world beside

2

Falshood is not in natures choice
Nor is it found in thee
Thy lovely form thy angel voice
And temper all agree

3

To form and make thee what thou art
The fairest of the fair
A handsome face a gentle heart
Which love would long to wear

4

O how can I be blythe and free

1

I know that I love thee
I feel it all o'er me
If wrong, God reprove me
So much to adore thee
I know not the reason, but only I love thee
Around thee, about thee, below and above me
I know that I love and adore thee and now
The soul of my worship's none other than thou
I feel so and know it
There's none other before thee
These verses they show it
That I love and adore thee.

2

Thy skin is the marble

1

The spring it beams sweet on the green linnets wing
The wind ruffles soft on the ring-doves coy breast
And heedless the wild bees on spring blossoms hing
Sweed about by the wind as an unbidden guest
O I love the soft gush of the winds in the spring
And chaffinch in thorn hedges trying to sing.

2

I love the sweet spring i' the flowers o' the larch
Cones o' purple rich studding the starry leaves green
They got through the storms and the blusters o' March
And mix with the things that are fair to be seen

Mary nature loves thee Mary
Now the sun has sunk to rest
& the even breeze so airy
Trys to bare thy snowy breast
How I love with thee to wander
Mary o how sweet with thee
Dusky meadows to meander
Where no soul can hear or see

As we pause by lake or fountain
On thy bosom bending free
O how sweet sensations counting
When I know each throbs for me
As thy face turns on the azure
Looking where the moon may dwell
As I fold thy beautys treasure
Wheres the sigh can please so well.

Many are poets — though they use no pen
To show their labours to the shuffling age
Real poets must be truly honest men
Tied to no mongrel laws on flatterys page
No zeal have they for wrong or party rage
— The life of labour is a rural song
That hurts no cause — nor warfare tries to wage
Toil like the brook in music wears along —
Great little minds claim right to act the wrong.

Ballad

Summer morning is risen
& to even it wends
& still Im in prison
Without any friends