When I am easy about love I am easy about life and death:
It makes no difference to me then if the sun does not shine:
I am not worried because affairs go wrong when love goes right:
I reach out and somehow everything falls into the palm of my hand—
All beauty and goodness fall there, all dreaming and hoping fall there:
Though I own no lands and am without fame yet I am as rich as love:
The old jealousies slip away, the grudges and animosities slink out of sight:
Now all life gathers round me—all the people and all the stars gather:

More love, more love; The heavens are blessing, The
angels are calling, O Zion, more love.
If ye love not each other In daily communion, How
can ye love God, Whom ye have not seen?

There are those who love the sunny Southern ocean
With its olive-clad and myrtle-scented shore
And its waves that know no wrestling tides' commotion;
They will dream of its clear waters evermore:
For in Italy—perhaps—Love bent and blessed them,
Smiling angel-like from depths of bluest sky
So they love the land where perfect Love caressed them
More than all lands, and will love it till they die.

Others heard Love whisper through the English larches,
Heard in gentle spring his gentleness of tone;
Saw Love stepping through the fragrant forest-arches,

I heard my love published in church,
I rose from my seat and went out in the porch.
I thought she was constant, as constant could be,
But now she is going to get married.

When I saw my love to the church go,
Bridesmen and bridemaidens they made a fine show.
Then I followed after with my heart full of woe,
For to see how my false love discarded.

When I saw my love in the church stand
With the glove putting off and the ring putting on,
Then I thought to myself that you ought to be mine,
But now she is tied to some other.

“C OME away! come, sweet love!”
The golden morning breaks:
All the earth, all the air,
Of love and pleasure speaks;
Teach thine arms then to embrace,
And sweet rosy lips to kiss
And mix our souls in mutual bliss:
Eyes were made for beauty's grace
Viewing, ruing, love's long pains
Procured by beauty's rude disdain.

Come away! come, sweet love!
Do not in vain adorn
Beauty's grace, that should arise
Like to the naked morn:
Lilies on the river's side
And fair Cyprian flowers newly blown
Desire no beauties but their own:

Each night, each night, as on my bed I lie,
I do not sleep, but turn myself and cry.

I do not sleep, but turn myself and weep,
When I think of her I love so deep.

Each day I seek the Wood of Love so dear,
In hopes to see you at its streamlet clear.

When I see you come through the forest grove,
On its leaves I write the secret of my love.

—But a fragile trust are the forest leaves,
To hold the secrets close which their page receives.

When comes the storm of rain, and gusty air,
Your secrets close are scattered everywhere.

I drew a marsh of solemn gray;
And over it a heron flew;
It was a sullen autumn day
When that sad marsh I drew.
But, over all the wistful waste,
A spirit seemed to ride above.
And someone bade me call the scene:
“The Haunt of a Lost Love.”

I turned from solemn meres to gay
And dancing troops of summer flowers.
I etched the mountains and the play
Of light about their towers.
And, though I warmed my brush's flow
In fern and flower and turtle-dove,
A stranger passed and wrote below:
“The Haunt of a Lost Love.”

In vain I Drunkenness forswore,
Because by That made Sick and Blind;
Since tho' I have the Flask giv'n o'er,
Love still intoxicates my Mind.

If then for either Sottishness,
Alike Man's Sense is in Disguise;
No matter which way, sure, it is,
By sparkling Wine, or sparkling Eyes.

Yet most debauch'd the Lovers shew,
As Love is sober Sottishness;
Whilst Drunkards know not what they do,
Which makes their Guilt and Folly less.

Glad sight wherever new with old
Is joined through some dear homeborn tie;
The life of all that we behold
Depends upon that mystery.

Vain is the glory of the sky,
The beauty vain of field and grove
Unless, while with admiring eye
We gaze, we also learn to love.

Love is the plant of peace and most precious of virtues;
For heaven hold it ne might, so heavy it seemed,
Till it had on earth yoten himself.
Was never leaf upon linden light thereafter,
As when it had of the fold flesh and blood taken;
Then was it portative and piercing as the point of a needle.
May no armour it let, neither high walls.
For-thy love leader of our Lord's folk of heaven.