love poems for her

I.

Let me thy Kindness but revive,
Who Dy'd long since for Love of thee;
My Songs shall make thy Beauty live.
Altho' that it has Murther'd me;

II.

As Arrows shot back, on the Foe,
By them, at whom they first were aim'd,
Of their Defence, Offensive grow,
When by their own Arms, they are maim'd;

III.

My Song's so meant, for my Love's Aid,
In overcoming Cruel thee;

I.

The Grave and Dull I did despise,
Now most my Spleen and Envy move;
Whom Want of Sense has made so Wise,
As to live Ignorant of Love;

II.

So Fools, the Wise Turks reverence,
Whose Want of Sense and Wit, secures
Them from those Troubles, too much Sense,
For the too Knowing still procures;

III.

Since Fools in this World, as elsewhere

I.

True Love, sure, needs no kind of Aid,
From Vows, Tears, Oaths, to make it good;
Love but in Silence best is made,
And by it, better understood;

II.

Like Hypocrites, so those of Love,
Are by Eye, Lip-Devotion known;
Less their True Faith, and Worship prove,
As more Appearance of 'em's shown;

III.

Since True Love, like True Piety,
Does still all Ostentation shun;

C ARY'S Tune .

When I by faith my Saviour see,
And think what he has done for me,
It strikes my soul with sweet surprise,
And fills with tears my wond'ring eyes! —
His blood was shed to set me free
From everlasting misery!

On all his beauties while I gaze,
And see them in his suff'rings blaze,
My heart, like wax before the fire,
Melts into love and strong desire. —
His blood was shed to set me free
From everlasting misery!

Was it for me those hands were torn?

I.

Me ne'r for being fickle, blame,
Since thou but alter'd art, not I;
Who, true to Love and Beauty am,
Thy Change makes my Inconstancy;
Who, since not now the same to me,
Mak'st me now not the same to thee;

II.

Because to Beauty I am true,
When that left thee, I left thee too,
I paid thee my Love, when thy Due;
But since it does another's grow,
Who now seems Fair, as once you were,
I'm true so, to thy Charms, in her;

III.

Since Beauty's Due, Love is alone,

C ELIA cannot you afford,
One consolatory Word?
Must I still the Burthen bear,
Ever love, and yet desair?
Never, never Comfort know?
Cruel Celia and my Wo;
Terminate at once my Fate,
And let me hear you say, You Hate.

Once to love is not a Crime,
If 'till Death we constant prove;
But to love a second Time,
Shows, we never once did love.

II.

Love I do! and love I must!
While my Life and Sense endure;
And this Form must turn to Dust,
'Ere my Passion knows a Cure.

III.

Never can my Torments cease,
Or my Joys return again;
Nor can Love, those Wrongs redress,

Early astir in this midsummer time
In the Queen's close, sweet hour in this sweet clime,
I stray at will to hear the throstle sing
Among the trees that round her garden cling;
I, Ronsard, in my youthood's joyous prime,
And by the Queen's desire, beneath the lime
She loves, to sing to her again the rhyme,
The daintiest of all the rhymes I bring,
My rhyme of Love.
But yet despite this July's leafy time,
The Queen's praise, birds' songs, odourous rose and thyme,
This heartache close to me, so close, will cling

S WINFORD Tune .

How sweet, how heav'nly is the sight,
When those that love the Lord
In one another's peace delight,
And so fulfil his word.

When each can feel his brother sigh,
And with him bear a part;
When sorrow flows from eye to eye,
And joy from heart to heart.

When, free from envy, scorn, and pride,
Our wishes all above,

Come with me my love and wander,
Where the moon is shining bright;
And the stars in beauteous splendor,
Softly shed their silv'ry light.
Where the nightingale is singing,
His soft blithesome melody,
And each breeze sweet perfume bringing,
I'll whisper words of love to thee.