love poetry

One twilight was there when it seemed
New stars beneath young eyelids gleamed;

In vain the warning clock would creep
Anear the hour of beauty-sleep;

In vain the trundle yearned to hold
Far-Eyes and little Heart-of-Gold;

And love that kisses are the stuff of
At last for once there was enough of.

As though of all Affection's round
The fond climacteric had been found —

Each childish fancy heaping more,
Like spendthrift from a miser-store,

Till stopped by hug and stayed by kiss —

What Latin Sir? why there is no man
That e're thought you an English-Roman .
Your Father Horse could teach you none,
Nor was it e're your Mother tongue,
Your Education too assures
Me, that your Poem is not yours:
Besides, I thought you did detest
The Language of the Latin Beast ,
But now your Impudence I see
Did hereby shew its Modesty;
Each syllable would blush you thought,
If it had bin plain English taught,
And that your foul debauched stuff
Might do its Errand fast enough,
Forsooth your Wisedom thought it meet

Shepherd ! if you see me, fly;
And why should that thy Fears create?
Maids may be too often shy,
As well in Love, as Hate.
If from you I fly away,
'Tis because I fear to stay.

II.

Should I out of Hatred run,
Much less would be my Pains and Care.
But the Youth I love, I shun;
Who can such a Trial bear?
Who, that such a Swain could see,

A NACREONTICK .

Cupid by a Bee was stung,
Lately; since Anacreon sung:
Venus , with a smiling Eye ,
Laugh'd to hear him sob and sigh.
Angry Cupid in Revenge,
(Gods their Shapes at pleasure Change)
In the Form of Wasp or Bee,
Stella! fix'd his Sting in Thee:
Stella! fairest of the Fair:
Stella, Venus' dearest Care!
In Revenge He dealt the Blow
On her Favourite Below;
In Revenge of smiling Eyes ,
Sweetest Emblems of the Skies!

Hither your Wreaths, ye drooping Muses, bring
The short-lived Rose, that blooms but to decay;
Love's fragrant Myrtles, that in Paphos spring,
And deathless Poetry's immortal Bay.

And Oh thou gentlest Shade accept the Verse,
Mean tho' it be, and artlessly sincere,
That pensive thus attends thy silent Hearse,
And steals, in secret Shades, the pious Tear.

What Heart, by Heav'n with gen'rous Softness blest,
But in thy Lines its native Language reads?
Where hapless Love, in Classic Plainness drest,

I.

Lord, all these works of thine
Become thy hand divine,
And pious thoughts inspire:
While all thy greatness prove,
Thee I admire and love,
Love and admire.

II.

The world's a temple, where
Thy creatures all appear
To offer praise and prayer:
The rocks, and hills and trees,
On earth, in air, in seas,
Thy altars are.

Marked you her eye of heavenly blue?
Marked you her cheek of roseate hue?
That eye in liquid circles moving,
That cheek abashed at man's approving:
The one , love's arrows darting round;
The other , blushing at the wound!

In vain I touch the warbling lute,
To chear my love-sick mind;
Or plumb-tree pipe, or boxen flute,
Unless my DELIAS kind; —

Unless the Nymph, who reigns confest,
Queen of the joys I share;
Vouchfafes to drive from out my breast,
The pain that rankles there.

For ah! in love, the fev'rish soul
Flies madd'ning thro' the brain;
And arts that should the sense controul,

Polly , when your lips you join,
Lovely ruby lips to mine;
To the bee the flow'ry field
Such a banquet does not yield;
Not the dewy morning rose
So much sweetness does enclose;
Not the gods such nectar sip,
As Colin from thy balmy lip:
Kiss me then, with rapture kiss,
We'll surpass the gods in bliss.

Come , my fairest, learn of me,
Learn to give and take the bliss;
Come, my love, here's none but we,
I'll instruct thee how to kiss.
Why turn from me that dear face?
Why that blush and downcast eye?
Come, come, meet my fond embrace,
And the mutual rapture try.

Throw thy lovely twining arms
Round my neck, or round my waist;
And whilst I devour thy charms,
Let me closely be embrac'd:
Then when soft ideas rise,
And the gay desires grow strong;
Let them sparkle in thy eyes,