love poems for her

Fie on boys! In women's arms
We shall find more lasting charms.
Nor do I love the hair that shows
All too soon on cheeks of rose.
Youths have lost their beauty when
They begin to look like men.

Now you have thrown your pride away
And yielded to the Cyprian's dart,
I in your arms a captive stay,
Enfolded to your heart.

Body and soul together meet
And mingle in love's swelling wave,
Nor while I fell these fetters sweet
Shall I my freedom crave.

The blaze that scorched my flesh of old
Is quenched and dim: I die of cold.
Love's furnace panting in its greed
Has now but bones whereon to feed,
And my poor heart, to ashes turned,
Has naught within it left unburned.
E'en as some altar at the close of day,
Its victim spent, untended dies away.

Bold love has led me here;
So let me in, I pray,
If my love sleeps alone;
If not I'll go away.
And give this token of my passion true:
" Reeling with wine, through thieves I came to you."

The sound of Love still rings within my ears,
Still from my eyes in silence flow sweet tears,
Nor night nor day can give my anguish rest;
Love charms have fixed one thought within my breast.
O winged fancies, are your wings in vain,
Have you no strength to fly from me again?

The Night was dark, the rain fell fast,
The wind made sullen moan;
Too oft the wine cup round had passed
And I was all alone.
Yet Love was victor; I to Moschus came
And drenched and shivering called on his dear name.

But none gave answer: such return
He renders to my love.
How long, dear God! for thou didst learn
Thyself these pains to prove.
Ah would that he in grief might wander so
And ne'er a door for place of refuge know.

It is not love to love the fair
And feast one's eyes on beauty rare,
For beauty all men's gaze enthrals,
Nor for a lover's rapture calls.

Nay, he alone true love doth know
Who pays no heed to outward show,
And though his mistress homely be
Still finds in her the perfect she.

Quench thy fire, linkman Love,
'Tis not right on one to turn,
Either now thy torch remove
Or make two hearts burn.

" Fly from Love" — 'Tis useless pain;
Love has wings.
" Drive him from you" — All in vain;
Like a wasp he comes again,
And he stings.

O cruel Love, how fierce the fire
That burns my fluttering heart;
Burn not too often, lest desire
A runaway depart.