love poetry

Birds, flowers, and foliage of the summer days
And skies above us lordly and serene
And forests measureless and deep and green
And blue glad billows bounding through the bays
And hyacinths and honeysuckle-sprays
And roses that against the window lean
Take ye my song, and bear it to my queen:
Teach her to understand my love and lays!

As the past lengthens, far intenser grow
All noble love and passion. Love that fades
Was never love. Now the tall tree-tops throw
A longer shadow down the silent glades

Though thou art bound, and canst not love me now
Save only in spirit, can they stay my song?
Can it not find thee when night-hours are long
And print a far-off soft kiss on thy brow?
Can it not lurk within the hazel bough?
Can it not shine amid the starry throng?
Fulfil thy life's task: be thou glad and strong:
But this true homage further and allow!

Art thou asleep, love? Then my soul is there,
Watching. Dost thou the wakeful moments count?
Then am I with thee. At this crystal fount

Hath anything been ever quite so fair
As first love, though the lengthening years have brought
Result of labour, red-ripe fruit of thought,
And new glad summers full of fragrant air?
The swift years pass us. Doth each swift year bear
Our spirits nearer to the goals we sought?
Though we have wrestled, suffered, toiled and fought,
Doth any aureole rest upon our hair?

The sweetest crown of all the crowns life brings
Is just to feel love very close indeed:
Love, the true God who lives within each creed

Thou art like some sweet queen who gives her heart
To zealous Psyche-service for a time,
Till she shall gather wings and growth sublime
And upwards towards the ancestral high heaven start.
Mine endlessly, unceasingly, thou art,
For I have kissed thee in some ancient clime
And circled thee with immemorial rhyme;
In truth our spirits never were apart.

But now to this love-service thou art doomed,
Though mine thou art in the inmost depth of things.
Though round thee endless starless nights have gloomed,

But is it any crime to love you so
That I would have you sitting ever near,
Ready to help my patient labour, dear,
And all depression's fiends to overthrow?
Is it a wrong that I would have you here
To aid the lagging moments as they go
And speed the silent hours with glances clear?
Is love condemned, when love doth overflow?

A little distance seems quite " far away, "
Because my heart would have you close indeed.
After clear sunshine e'en the moon looks grey
And wretched, — and so urgent is my need

Yet let us comfort. Comfort is a part
Of that strong help which either spirit needs:
It lifts, it soothes, it purifies each heart;
God's touch is gentle, when the pierced soul bleeds.
When anger fails, a softer speech succeeds
Full often; the great victories are won
By patience, and the everlasting deeds
By everlasting tenderness are done,
And out of love the angels' robes are spun,
And sweetest pity in God's loom is woven,
And he is crowned with mercy like a sun: —
By bitter lightning trees in twain are cloven,

Pain's fiery lesson was to teach us this:
To teach the perfect truth to either soul, —
That now, beside us as the swift months roll,
Nought may disturb, no frailty mar, our bliss.
Beneath the stars again our spirits kiss:
Again the smarting puzzled hearts are whole:
Again with gladdened lips Love's crystal bowl
We touch; — and know how great a thing Love is.

Heart of my heart, soul of my soul indeed,
Wast thou in sorrow, and did I not bleed?
Mind of my mind, were issues vast at stake,

I hear the murmurs of the eternal sea
That washes round the trembling shores of time;
I mark faint whispers from another clime;
Death's form at seasons overshadows me.
But through it all I part not, sweet, from thee; —
Rather our passion waxes more sublime
As earthly sounds become like some spent rhyme;
Our sacred love-flower blooms eternally.

Oh, if thou diest the first, be ever near
To lead me upward with love's whisper clear, —
To draw me forth with passion's accent fond.

The strength of man first storms the heart:
But in the end the woman gives as well.
Man's love first plays its urgent part;
Man's passion sweeps wide-winged o'er valley and fell.

First man pursues. With strength he seeks:
For months he deems that no response is there.
Then, on a sudden, rose-red cheeks!—
He laughs, and kisses lips and throat and hair.
This is love's reciprocity divine.
Man loves,—and thinks the woman cold:
But her pure heart is learning line by line

I.

To-day thou hast the wings, O love of mine,
And over the sea's grey
Thou canst flee quite away
Leaving my lyre to weep, my soul to pine.

II.

Young art thou, and thou hast the wondrous wings
Of girlhood, and the air
Of summer finds thee fair
And round about thee all the wildwood sings.

III.

Oh, what can hold thee? Can I stay thy flight?
Oh love alone can hold
Thy young plumes fleet and bold