love poetry

Written under a picture of the

COUNTESS OF SANDWICH DRAWN IN MAN'S HABIT ,

When Sandwich in her sex's garb we see,
The queen of Beauty then she seems to be;
Now fair Adonis in this male-disguise,
Or little Cupid with his mother's eyes:
No style of empire chang'd by this remove,
Who seem'd the goddess seems the god of Love.

Sheepheard, what's Love, I pray thee tell? Faustus .
It is that Fountaine, and that Well,
Where pleasure and repentance dwell.
It is perhaps that sauncing bell,
That toules all into heaven or hell,
And this is Love as I heard tell. Meli .
Yet what is Love, I pre-thee say? Fau .
It is a worke on holy-day,
It is December match'd with May,
When lustie-bloods in fresh aray,
Heare ten moneths after of the play,

Alas you know not what you bid me do!
He, who loves well, can ne'er distinguish, too.
To paint you, justly, asks cool reason — I
Thro' passion's faithless glass, should look too high.
If, when I trace you, absent, killing fair!
I catch the aguish influence of despair;
To search you, near, my soul cou'd ne'er endure,
Without dissolving quite, in love's hot calenture .

Hands that I loved long years ago —
Dear hands.
Caressive as the desert breezes blow,
They call to me across the sands,
Across the waste, wild prairie lands;
For once they were my own
To kiss and fondle and entwine
With mine.

My fragrant flow'rs the summer suns had sown,
Pink-petalled finger-tips
(Heaven to my lips!)
Sweet violet veins that trace
And keep the pressure of a lost embrace.
They were such white hands,
Pale as the new-lain snow on winter lands;
Dear hands of my delight,

Young Tyrant of the bow and wings,
Thy altar asks three precious things;
The heart's, the world's most precious three,
Courage, and Time, and Constancy!
And Love must have them all, or none:
By Time he 's wearied, but not won;
He shrinks from Courage hot and high;
He laughs at tedious Constancy;
But all his raptures, tender, true, sublime,
Are given to Courage, Constancy, and Time.

And why, fair Trifler , does that meaning eye
Smile, in contempt , when lovers swear they die?
'Twixt death , and love , but one small diff'rence lies,
The soul , in both , from its left body flies:
In death , 'tis gone, like smoak , dissolv'd in air,
Lost, in expance, the loser knows not where:
In love , we trace it, with such willing pain ,
'Twere to die twice , to take it back again.

I'm thinking, Charles, 't is just a year,
Or will be, very soon,
Since first you told me of your love,
One glorious day in June.

All nature seemed to share our bliss, —
The skies hung warm above,
The winds from opening roses bore
The very breath of love!

We sought the still, deep forest shades,
Within whose leafy gloom
Few ardent sunbeams stole to kiss

Only one wife, Inkoos? Ha, it is strange.
But Kusawa has known it; he also had one.

Makumbo Rashumba went trading for cattle
To the kraal of Mudzingwa;
And I, too, went with him.

Mudzingwa the Bastard —
The blood of Wazulu
Was hot in his veins, and we traded with money;
For Makumbo, my father, had been to the mines.

To the kraal of Mudzingwa,
Four days from Matshanga,
We came, and we slept, and we talked with Mudzingwa;
On the morrow we talk'd; but I wearied of barter

I've waited patiently for you,
And now you come to make me glad;
I shall be ever good and true,
And be the dearest, sweetest dad.

You cheer my life with every smile,
And make me feel much like a bird
That flits and sings just all the while
Such songs as you have always heard.

You are the beacon light, my dear,
That guides me on the happy way;
Such love as yours I would not share,
But treasure in my heart all day.

I dream of you each eve and morn;
I picture you from distance far,

Death is no terror, friend!
It's a sublime sleep
That lulls the weary home
To rest — not to weep:
It is the solace of God —
A message for you
From those friends, gone before,
Those whose love is true.

The dream called death is not
The pain that you fear;
It's an ecstacy
Beyond man's compare;
'Tis life's joy — that's called
The Eternal Fair.