love poetry

Eve's purple dust sinks to its golden urn
Where in the west, the sun's red banners burn.

The wigwam's smoke that warms the pillared air
Mounts in a shaft to greet the sunset glare;

Soon, on the night is lifted high, afar,
Serene, intense, one iridescent star;

And in the dark is heard a maiden's prayer; —
The heart of Love is listening everywhere.

In the northern skies clear-shining,
Once, a star with emerald-gleam
Loved a chieftain's peerless daughter
By the great north-flowing stream.

Hair of ruby dipt in darkness
Blent with sunrise as with fire;
Eyes elate with love's young glory,
Deep with light of love's desire.

Cheek of nut-brown shadow glinted
With a blush of crimson glow;
Form elusive, spirit daring
As an arrow from the bow.

And the north land loved this daughter
Of the fragrant forest-wild,

'T WAS on one morn in springtime weather,
A rosy, warm, inviting hour,
That Love and Faith went out together,
And took the path to Beauty's bower.
Love laugh'd and frolick'd all the way,
While sober Faith, as on they rambled,
Allow'd the thoughtless boy to play,
But watch'd him, wheresoe'er he gambolled.

So warm a welcome, Beauty smiled
Upon the guests whom chance had sent her,
That Love and Faith were both beguiled
The grotto of the nymph to enter;
And when the curtains of the skies

I knew not how I loved thee — no!
I knew it not till all was o'er —
Until thy lips had told me so —
Had told me I must love no more!
I knew not how I loved thee! — yet
I long had loved thee wildly well!
I thought 'twere easy to forget —
I thought a word would break the spell:

And even when that word was spoken,
Ay! even till the very last,
I thought, that spell of faith once broken,
I could not long lament the past.
Oh, foolish heart! Oh, feeble brain,
That love could thus deceive — subdue!

Alas! if she be false to me
It is for her alone I weep!
'Tis that in coming years I see
Her suffering from such frailty
Than mine , oh, far more deep!

So tender, yet so false withal,
So proud, and yet so frail,
Responding to each flatterer's call,
Loving, yet often blind to all
Of love that could not fail —
Oh who will watch her wayward soul,
Who minister when I am gone,

They tell me that my trusting heart
Thy fondness is deceived in;
They say that thou all faithless art
Whom I so well believed in!
I heed not, reck not, what they say
So earnestly about thee;
I'd rather trust my soul away
Than for one moment doubt thee.

Like mine thy youth was early lost;
Thy vows too rashly plighted;
Thy budding life by wintry frost
Of grief untimely, blighted.
Devotion is most deep and pure
In souls by sorrow shaded,
And love like ours will still endure

Take back then thy pledges, — and peace to that heart
In which faith like a shadow can come and depart!
From which love, that seems cherished most fondly to-day,
Is cast, without grieving, to-morrow away.
Such a heart it may sadden mine own to resign,
But it never was mated to mingle with mine.
Love another! Nay, shrink not — more wisely thou wilt
If truth to thy plighted in thine eyes be guilt.

I claim not, I ask not one thought in thy breast
While that thought brings misgiving and doubt to the rest.

They say that thou art alter'd, Amy,
They say that thou no more
Dost keep within thy bosom, Amy,
The faith that once it wore;

They tell me that another now
Doth thy young heart assail;
They tell me, Amy, too, that thou
Dost smile on his love tale.

But I — I heed them not, my Amy,
Thy heart is like my own;
And still enshrined in mine, my Amy,
Thine image lives alone:

Whate'er a rival's hopes have fed,
Thy soul cannot be moved
Till he shall plead as I have plead,

Why should I murmur lest she may forget me?
Why should I grieve to be by her forgot?
Better, then, wish that she had never met me,
Better, oh far, she should remember not!

Yet that sad wish — ah, would it not come o'er her
Knew she the heart on which she now relies?
Strong it is only in beating to adore her —
Faint in the moment her lov'd image flies!

Why should I murmur lest she may forget me?

In dreams — in dreams she answers to my yearning,
And fondly lays her downy cheek to mine;
In dreams each night that faithful form returning
Will on my breast with sweet content recline:
Awhile my heart keeps time to her soft breathing,
Heaving in motion to her bosom heaving.

I wake — and oh, there is an inward sinking,
A drear soul-faintness coming o'er me then,
That through the livelong day but makes my thinking
One fond, fond aching thus to dream again, —
Soul — soul, where art thou through the day employ'd,