love poems for her

Tune, This is no my ain house —

O this is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho' the lassie be:
O weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e'e.

I see a form, I see a face,
Ye weel may wi' the fairest place:
It wants, to me, the witching grace,
The kind love that 's in her e'e.

O this is no my ain lassie,
Fair tho' the lassie be:
Weel ken I my ain lassie,
Kind love is in her e'e.

Tune, Deil tak the wars —

Mark yonder pomp of costly fashion,
Round the wealthy, titled bride:
But when compar'd with real passion,
Poor is all that princely pride.
What are their showy treasures,
What are their noisy pleasures,
The gay, gaudy glare of vanity and art:

Tune, Roy's Wife

Chorus

Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy,
Canst thou leave me thus, my Katy;
Well thou know'st my aching heart,
And canst thou leave me thus for pity. —

Is this thy plighted, fond regard,
Thus cruelly to part, my Katy:
Is this thy faithful swain's reward —
An aching broken heart, my Katy. —
Canst thou &c.

Farewel! and ne'er such sorrows tear

Ah, Chloris, since it may not be,
That thou of love wilt hear;
If from the lover thou maun flee,
Yet let the friend be dear.

Altho' I love my Chloris, mair
Than ever tongue could tell;
My passion I will ne'er declare —
I'll say, I wish thee well.

Tho' a' my daily care thou art,
And a' my nightly dream,
I'll hide the struggle in my heart,
And say it is esteem.

O mirk, mirk is this midnight hour,
And loud the tempest's roar:
A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower,
Lord Gregory ope thy door.

An exile frae her father's ha',
And a' for loving thee;
At least some pity on me shaw,
If love it may na be.

Lord Gregory, mind'st thou not the grove,
By bonie Irwine-side,
Where first I own'd that virgin-love
I lang, lang had denied.

How aften didst thou pledge and vow,
Thou wad for ay be mine;
And my fond heart, itsel sae true,

My love she's but a lassie yet,
My love she's but a lassie yet;
We'll let her stand a year or twa,
She'll no be half sae saucy yet. —

I rue the day I sought her O,
I rue the day I sought her O,
Wha gets her needs na say he's woo'd,
But he may say he's bought her O. —

Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet,
Come draw a drap o' the best o't yet:
Gae seek for Pleasure whare ye will,
But here I never misst it yet. —

We're a' dry wi' drinking o't,
We're a' dry wi' drinking o't:

Go on, sweet bird, and soothe my care,
Thy tuneful notes will hush Despair;
Thy plaintive warblings void of art
Thrill sweetly thro' my aching heart.
Now chuse thy mate, and fondly love,
And all the charming transport prove;
While I a lovelorn exile live,
Nor transport or receive or give.

For thee is laughing Nature gay;
For thee she pours the vernal day:
For me in vain is Nature drest,
While joy's a stranger to my breast!

These sweet emotions all enjoy;
Let love and song thy hours employ!

" GAY go up and gay go down
To ring the Bells of London Town. "
When London Town's asleep in bed
You'll hear the Bells ring overhead.
In excelsis gloria!
Ringing for Victoria,
Ringing for their mighty mistress — ten years dead!

T HE B ELLS :

Here is more gain than Gloriana guessed —
Than Gloriana guessed or Indies bring —

In early days the woman was my queen;
The fair sweet maiden, crowned with first love's flowers.
With her I wandered through the in woven bowers
Of first love, — marked the young moon's silver sheen
Upon the deep, or heard the echoing shore
Ring to the white waves, answering their roar:
With her I lingered through the summer hours
Or smote the river tides with laughing oar.

I sought no further than the simple boon
Of simple maiden love: sufficient bliss
Had been the bounty of her red-lipped kiss;

I.

The year is flying, dying, —
Soon its flowers will flee;
Its tender soft red roses,
Its leafy verdant closes, —
Soon autumn will be crying,
" What is left for me? "

II.

The old loves are flying, dying, —
With all their soft-voiced glee;
Their ripples of sweet laughter