love poetry

By MOONLIGHT

THESE lions were sculptured centuries ago
In that fair court a Sultan made for her
Who was his heart's delight. Her worshipper
Was he whom all men worshipped; proving so
His love and homage that the ages know
How fair she was, and how at softest stir
Of her soft robes — as these proud courts aver —
His kingly heart with kingly love did glow;

Till he bade crafty workmen come and make
A palace, lovely for her lovely sake,

Sweet Love, the shadow of thy parting wings,
Hangs on my soul, like the soft shade of even,
Farewell to thee, for thou art going to Heaven,
And I must stay behind, with all the things
Which thou, and thy benign administerings
Once made most sweet, of sweetness now bereaven;
Whose memory, as a sour fermenting leaven,
Perverts all nature with an ill that springs
From good corrupted. Oh! for mercy — Love,
Stay with me yet, altho' thy comrade fair,
The smiler Hope, be gone to realms above,

Through the large, stormy splendors of the night,
When clouds made war, and spears of moonlight strove
To penetrate their serried ranks and prove
That braver than the darkness was the light,
Yet failed before the storm-clouds' gathered might,
I heard a voice cry, " Strong indeed is Love,
But stronger Fate and Death, who hold above
Their pitiless, high court, in Love's despite. "

Storm-cloud met storm-cloud, reeled, and shook, and fled, —
The old earth trembled at their mighty rage, —

" HE loved me once! " What words are these —
" He loved! "
Past tense, past love, past joy, past hope, past dream, —
All things that were and are not, — how they seem
To crowd around and mock the love disproved,
The former bliss, by ages long removed;
The light, far off as farthest star's pale beam
That sheds through trackless space its fitful gleam.
Which once, our sun, we welcomed and approved.

How dear that was which lies here stark and dead
While we sit watching in God's awful sight,

ON FINDING HIS ADDRESSES NOT FAVOURED BY HER FRIENDS, ON
ACCOUNT OF HIS WANT OF FORTUNE .

Forbear , in pity, ah! forbear
To soothe my ravish'd ear;
Nor longer thus a love declare,
'Tis death for me to hear.

Too much, alas! my tender heart
Does to thy suit incline;
Why then attempt to gain by art,
What is already thine?

O! let not, like the Grecian dame,

FROM COUNTRY TO TOWN.

I LEFT the land where men with nature dwelling,
Know not how much they love her lovely forms —
Nor heed the history of forgotten storms,
On the blank folds inscribed of drear Helvellyn;
I sought the town, where toiling, buying, selling —
Getting and spending, poising hope and fear,
Make but one season of the live-long year —
Now for the brook from moss-girt fountain welling,
I see the foul stream hot with sleepless trade,
For the slow creeping vapours of the morn,

Dear Lord, on this Thy servant's day,
Who left for Thee the gold and mart,
Who heard Thee whisper, " Come away, "
And follow'd with a single heart,

Give us, amiDearth's weary moil,
And wealth for which men cark and care,
'Mid fortune's pride, and need's wild toil,
And broken hearts in purple rare,

Give us Thy grace to rise above
The glare of this world's smelting fires;
Let God's great love put out the love
Of gold, and gain, and low desires.

Still, like a breath from scented lime

Evening winds are breathing,
Through the forest green;
Crimson clouds are wreathing,
In the sky, serene.

Trees, so tall and branching,
Relics of the past,
In the soft breeze waving,
Roaring in the blast,

Bloom in future ages,
Bloom in Freedom's light;
Though the tempest rages,
Stand in all your might.

Native land, so lovely,
Bright thy beauties are;
Long may noon beam o'er thee,
Let thy night be far.

On thy rising glories,
Let the clear light glow,

When Jesus came to earth of old,
He came in weakness and in woe;
He wore no form of angel mould,
But took our nature poor and low.

But when He cometh back once more,
Then shall be set the great white Throne;
And earth and heaven shall flee before
The face of Him that sits thereon.

O Son of God, in glory crown'd,
The Judge ordain'd of quick and dead;
O Son of Man, so pitying found
For all the tears Thy people shed;

Be with us in this darken'd place,
This weary, restless, dangerous night;

Palimpsest heart, on which so many names
Love's hand has writ! Blind Love, could he not know
Which the true script of Fate, and thus forego
To lend his torch to kindle transient flames?
New risen joy each new day's sun proclaims;
Each dawning sets the amorous east aglow;
Each day is bright until its sun is low;
As of fair days, so is it of fair dames.

Why should we chide the glad who find life sweet?
Their careless hearts are like a favored year,
All blessed summer; or a garden ground