love poetry

OF GENEVA, SWITZERLAND .

What shall I call thee? My sunbeam, my star?
Nay, one is too transient, the other too far.

Shall I call thee a dew-drop, a joy a delight,
A rose-bud, a song-bird, a beautiful sprite?

Nay, love, I will call thee a rainbow that spanned
My heart and my life, in a lone, foreign land,

For tender and faithful, far-reaching and free
As the sign of God's promise, thy love was to me.

If I knew how the earth woos a bright, summer shower;

WRITTEN AFTER THE COMPLETION OF SOME EARLY POEMS .

Whose lot so drear, it ne'er has known
A kindly smile, a cheering tone?
The loneliest live not all alone.

Some form of love the darkest fate
Exists to bless and consecrate;
And none are wholly desolate,

While 'midst Time's myriad hearts, one heart —
To which their own may all impart
Of care or hope — is set apart,

As was methinks thine own for me,
So rich in love and constancy;
Although I so unworthy be.

I WAS a bard: — she listened to my lay
As there her questioning soul had answer found.
She stooped to pluck my wild flowers on the way

Fancies that teem from the prolific ground
In the heart's solstice, — in whose inner day
Through all the pleasant paths of earth we wound.

And sometimes through her music of delight
An undersound of sadness softly stole,
And floated, 'twixt the fountain pure and bright

Of her deep joy and heaven, a cloud of dole
That almost seemed relief; for scarce below

PRESENTED BY A FAIR GIRL .

O WHY do you fade so soon, fair flowers?
Is it for love of your native bowers?
For your sweet companions blooming there;
For the golden sunshine's loving care;
For the twilight dew,
So tender and true,
And the soft caress of the purple air?

Do ye miss the shadows cool and deep
Of leaves that whisper themselves to sleep?
Or pine for the kiss of the soft starlight
That trembled down, so still and white,
From its home above.

ATHOS .

Thy mind was fit for prehistoric time,
When man was perfect, ere the birth of guile;
I love the gentle glamour of thy smile;
I love thy heart beyond all taint or crime.

No passion base e'er touched thee with its slime;
In thee dwelt radiant honor and no wile;
And not a thought ignoble could defile
Thy soul, that ever higher seemed to climb!

I.

Since , by the Fair Sex, Men are priz'd,
Not for their Wit's, but Money's Store,
And Wits, for Want of Coin, despis'd;
'Tis Nonsense to Love, and be Poor;

II.

Since Noble, Wise, Good, Rich Men are,
By Women thought, for Money's Store,
And Love can, but by Gifts, appear;
'Tis Miserable to be Poor;

III.

Since my Saint, but with Offerings,

Thy Beauty, which invited first my Love,
And me to taste the Joys of yours did move,
Did first both's Fatal Disappointment prove;
Thy sudden, unexpected Meeting me,
Made me to fail (in what thou met'st for) thee,
More backward, for thy Forwardness, to be;
Thy Beauty, which first rais'd my Passion so,
Its own Delay did make my Passion grow;
At once its Cause, and its Impediment,
And made my Love its own Desire prevent;
The Cause then of my Love, is now its Blame,
My Love, since not my Sin, is more my Shame;

I.

O tell me Chloris! prithee tell,
(Since sure you can) the Reason why?
The best-stor'd Beauties Love shou'd sell
Most dear, and Poor Men dearest buy?
That Women shou'd Injustice do,
Before they love, and after too?

II.

You Fair in Looks, not Actions are,
From Men exacting Pay and Pains;
Since Woman has a double Share
Of Pleasure, she shou'd have less Gains;
Not from her Labourer require,
The more he does for her, more Hire;

III.

If you pretend your self undone,

I.

Phillis! pray give me now your Heart,
Or mine to me now back again resign;
If you with yours will never part,
It is but just, I shou'd again have mine;

II.

Be more kind, or be more severe,
Your Coldness and Indifference I hate,
My living still 'twixt Hope and Fear;
An Open Foe's less hurtful than a Cheat;

III.

And Doubt is the worst sort of State,
Impatient, faithful Lovers can endure;
When once we know but our Love's Fate,
Our very Pain does Ease for us procure;

IV.

FRANCE .

Your joyous youth, when heedless of a crown,
Passed amid laughing damosels and flowers,
Awed in grim Plessis, free in Touraine's bowers,
Loving to love, dreading a tyrant's frown!

Man of most nervous beauty and renown,
You knew the torture of eventless hours,
When, from the gloom of Bourge's antique towers,
You, desolate, gazed upon the dismal town.