love poetry

Take thou this rose, sweet even as thou art,
Thou rose of roses rarest, loveliest,
Thou flower of freshest flowers, whose fragrance blest
Enwraps me, ravished from myself apart.

Take thou this rose, and with it take my heart,
My heart that hath no wings, unto thy breast,
So constant that its faith stands manifest,
Though wounded sore with many a cruel dart.

The rose and I are diverse in one thing:
Each morning's rose at eve lies perishing,
While countless mornings see my love new-born

( MARCHING SONG )

March along, march along, with a song
For the land of the brave and the free.
Let the people throng to save from wrong
The world and the world to be,
The better world to be.

Chorus:
On, on, by dark or dawn,
'Neath the constellation
Of a mighty nation;

I DRAGGED my life along with sullen sighs
In heaviness of body and of soul,
Knowing not yet the Muse's high control
And honor that she brings her votaries,

Until the hour I loved you. Then your eyes
Became my guide to lead to virtue's goal,
Where I might win that knowledge fair and whole
Which by true loving makes men nobly wise.

O love, my all, if aught of good I do,
If worthily of your dear eyes I write,
You are the cause, yours is the potency.

My perfect grace comes ever but from you,

My chosen one — you to whom I have said,
" You and you only ever please my heart " —
I look deep in your eyes, and heal the smart
That long love-yearning hath engendered.

My hunger grows the more through being fed;
But Love, who wasteth not his perfect art
On the unworthy, with each deeper dart
Brings not the pain I thought, but joy instead,

And health from my heart all pain away.
Love is not pain but gain. Though bitter-sweet,
Less bitter 'tis than sweet, less ill than good.

Carnations and lilies are hueless
When set by the face of my fair,
And fine-woven gold is but worthless
If weighed with the wealth of her hair;
Through arches of coral passes
Her laughter that banisheth care,
And flowers spring fresh 'mongst the grasses
Wherever her feet may fare.

Sun of my earthly worship, I declare
She equals him in Heaven! He with his eye
Makes glad, makes warm, makes light the spacious sky;
She gladdens earth with beauty yet more rare.

Nature and art, earth, water, fire, and air,
The stars, the Graces, and the Gods on high
Combine in rivalry to beautify
My Lady, and to make her wondrous fair.

Thrice happy were I, had not Fate's disdain
Walled in with adamantine magnet-stone
So chaste a heart behind so fair a face!

And happiest, had I not filled every vein

If ye love me, keep my commandments.

J ESUS my Lord, in thy dear name unite,
All that my heart calls great, or good, or sweet;
Whate'er inspires with wonder or delight,
In thee, thou fairest of ten thousand, meet.

Do I not love thee? ah my conscious heart
Nor boldly dares affirm, nor can deny;
O bid these clouds of gloomy fear depart,
With one bright ray from thy propitious eye!

Do I not love thee? can I then allow,
Within my breast pretenders to thy throne?
O take my homage, at thy feet I bow!

The scarlet cheek is a most pleasing dye ,
For so much colour so much modesty ;
And if she'd innocence to give delight,
It forms a very beauteous red and white ;
More lovely than all painting can impart,
One takes the eye , but t'other gains the heart .

THE FOREGOING LINES PARAPHRASED

I.

Happy the man who, in thy sparkling eyes,
His am'rous wishes sees reflecting play;
Sees little laughing Cupids glancing rise,
And in soft-swimming languor die away.

II.

Still happier he to whom thy meanings roll
In sounds which Love, harmonious Love! inspire;
On his charm'd ear sits rapt his list'ning soul,
Till admiration form intense desire.

Who longs for music merely longs for Love.
For Love's music, and no minstrel needs
Save his own sigh to breathe upon the reeds
From heart too full, and — like the adoring dove
That cooes all day the darling nest above,
Content if hour to happy hour succeeds —
Nor morning's song, nor noon's rich silence, heeds,
Nor the old mysteries evening whispers of.

But when the voice is echoless, the hand
Long empty, then, O wedded harp and flute,
Remind us Love's eternal, not Time's toy.