love poetry

Have you been at Carrick, and saw my true-love there?
And saw you her features, all beautiful, bright, and fair?
Saw you the most fragrant, flowering, sweet apple-tree? —
Oh! saw you my loved one, and pines she in grief like me?

I have been at Carrick, and saw thy own true-love there;
And saw, too, her features, all beautiful, bright and fair;
And saw the most fragrant, flowering, sweet apple-tree —
I saw thy loved one — she pines not in grief, like thee!

Five guineas would price every tress of her golden hair —

Hath God, who freely gave you his own Son,
Freely bestowed on you one of your own?
You certainly can justly do no less
Than thankfully own yours to be his.
Your doing so, may very much conduce
To love him well, and yet not love too much.
Don't love so much; you cannot love too well.
Love God for all, your Love will then excell.
Love not so much, lest you too soon should lose.
Our comforts wither may, upon abuse.
May Father, Mother, Son be always blest
With all the Blessings purchased by Christ!

Had I concealed my love
And you so loved me longer,
Since all the wise reprove
Confession of that hunger
In any human creature,
It had not been my nature.

I could not so insult
The beauty of that spirit
Who like a thunderbolt
Has broken me, or near it;
To love I have been candid,
Honest, and open-handed.

Although I love you well
And shall for ever love you,
I set that archangel
The depths of heaven above you;
And I shall lose you, keeping
His word, and no more weeping.

Grene groweth the holy,
So doth the ivy.
Thow winter blastes blow never so hye,
Grene growth the holy.

As the holy growth grene
And never chaungeth hew,
So I am, ever hath bene,
Unto my lady trew.

As the holy growth grene
With ivy all alone,
When floweres cannot be sene
And grenewode leves be gone,

Now unto my lady
Promise to her I make,
Frome all other only
To her I me betake.

Adew! mine owne lady,
Adew! my speciall,
Who hath my hart, trewly,

" She was beautiful in life And beautiful in death. "

Gone, with all her sparkling beauty,
Gone, with innocence and youth;
Gone, with loving ways and kindness,
Gone, with happiness and truth.

In the tomb they gently laid her —
Even strangers dropped a tear;
And one heart will feel the anguish
Of her loss for many a year.

Father, mother, loving sisters,
Deeply mourn the lov'd and lost;

1.

" Get down, get down, loving Henry, " she said,
" And stay all night with me;
But there's another girl in the Urgent land,
That you love better than me. "

2.

" I could get down if I would get down,
And stay all night with you,
But there is a girl in the Urgent land
That I love better than you. "

3.

As he leaned over his saddle skirts,
To kiss her rosy cheeks,

VERSE 1

Gee, but it's tough to be broke, kid,
It's not a joke, kid, it's a curse.
My luck is changing, it's gotten
From simply rotten to something worse.
Who knows, someday I will win, too.
I'll begin to reach my prime;
Now though I see what our end is,
All I can spend is just my time.

REFRAIN

I can't give you anything but love,
Baby,
That's the only thing I've plenty of,
Baby.
Dream a while, scheme a while,
We're sure to find

From the small life that loves with tooth and nail
To the thorn'd brow that makes the heavens pale.

From the madding crowd they stand apart,
The maidens four and the Work of Art;

And none might tell from sight alone
In which had culture ripest grown, —

The Gotham Millions fair to see,
The Philadelphia Pedigree,

The Boston Mind of azure hue,
Or the Soulful Soul from Kalamazoo, —

For all loved Art in a seemly way,
With an earnest soul and a capital A.
...

Long they worshipped; but no one broke
The sacred stillness, until up spoke

The Western one from the nameless place,

For shame, thou everlasting Woer,
Still saying Grace and ne're fall to her!
Love that's in Contemplation plac't,
Is Venus drawn but to the Wast.
Unlesse your Flame confesse its Gender,
And your Parley cause surrender,
Y'are Salamanders of a cold desire,
That live untouch't amid the hottest fire.

What though she be a Dame of stone,
The Widow of Pigmalion ;
As hard and un-relenting She,
As the new-crusted Niobe ;
Or what doth more of Statue carry
A Nunne of the Platonick Quarrey?