love poems for her

They are mockery all — those skies, those skies —
Their untroubled depths of blue;
They are mockery all — these eyes, these eyes,
Which seem so warm and true.
Each quiet star in the one that lies,
Each meteor glance that at random dies
The other's lashes through;
They are mockery all, these flowers of spring,
Which her airs so softly woo;
And the love to which we would madly cling,
Ay! it is mockery too;
The winds are false which the perfume stir,
And the looks deceive to which we sue,

Kisse me, ├┤ kisse me, with Loues honyed Kisse ,
├┤ dearest Loue, and sweet'st-Heart of my Soule:
Whose loue is like pure Wine that cordiall is;
& doth sowre eares, with Comforts sweet, controle.

Thy Name is like so sweet suffused Balme :
which makes chast Soules eu'n sick for loue of thee:
Whose Passions (striuing in a blessed calme
on Sorrowes Seas) to thee still rowling be.

Drawe me (deare Loue) then, after thee Ile runne

O Past beginning, and immortall Sprit ,
eternall, and incomprehensible:
Incircumscrib'd in Maiestie and Might;
seene all in All , yet most insensible:

Immutable, impassible, most iust;
inscrutable; in mercy, most compleate:
From whom they came, and vnto whom they must
that doe beleeue thou art as good, as great:

Who by thy ne'er too-much applauded Word
hast framed whatsoe'er created is;
One blessed TRINITIE , in true accord

Love , art thou lonely to-day?
Lost love that I never see,
Love that, come noon or come night,
Comes never to me;
Love that I used to meet
In the hidden past, in the land
Of forbidden sweet.

Love! do you never miss
The old light in the days?
Does a hand
Come and touch thee at whiles
Like the wand of old smiles,
Like the breath of old bliss?
Or hast thou forgot,
And is all as if not?

What was it we swore?

1

Surely at last, O Lady, the sweet moon
That bringeth in the happy singing weather
Groweth to pearly queendom, and full soon
Shall Love and Song go hand in hand together;
For all the pain that all too long hath waited
In deep dumb darkness shall have speech at last,
And the bright babe Death gave the Love he mated
Shall leap to light and kiss the weeping past.

CANT. II.

S PONSUS .

I AM the lily of the vale,
The rose of Sharon's fragrant dale.
Lo, as th' unsullied lily shows
Which in a brake of brambles grows,
My love so darkens all that are
By erring men admir'd for fair.

S PONSA .

L O , as the tree which citrons bears
Amidst the barren shrubs appears,
So my Belov'd excells the race
Of man in ev'ry winning grace.
In His desired shade I rest,

Ay, she was as Madonna to
The tawny, lawless, faithful few
Who touched her hand and knew her soul:
She drew them, drew them as the pole
Points all things to itself.

She drew
Men upward as a moon of spring
High wheeling, vast and bosom-full,
Half clad in clouds and white as wool,
Draws all the strong seas following.

Yet still she moved as sad, as lone
As that same moon that leans above,
And seems to search high heaven through

TO A RCHILOCHUS

Pause , and scan well Archilochus, the bard of elder days,
By east and west
Alike's confest
The mighty lyrist's praise.
Delian Apollo loved him well, and well the sister choir:
His songs were fraught
With subtle thought,
And matchless was his lyre.

FOR A Tripod E RECTED BY D AMOTELES TO B ACCHUS

T HE precentor Damoteles, Bacchus, exalts
Your tripod, and, sweetest of deities, you
He was champion of men, if his boyhood had faults
And he ever loved honour and seemliness too.

IDYLL XXXI

L OVES

A H for this the most accursed, unendurable of ills!
Nigh two months a fevered fancy for a maid my bosom fills
Fair she is, as other damsels: but for what the simplest swain
Claims from the demurest maiden, I must sue and sue in vain
Yet doth now this thing of evil my longsuffering heart beguile,
Though the utmost she vouchsafes me is the shadow of a smile:
And I soon shall know no respite, have no solace e'en in sleep.