love poetry

I am the Nymph Confidence : —
I drive away distrust and doubt,
That into homes like serpents crawl;
And jealousy, that coils about
The heart and turns the blood to gall.
Mine are the true and loving eyes,
Through which one looks in on the Soul,
The loyal troth that Time defies,
The faith that can mistrust control.
Here I abide, a constant guest,
With Peace and Love, and sweet Content;
By us this home shall still be blest,
Beyond the reach of accident.

I am the life of the household,
The Love of the husband and wife,
The love between parents and children,
The love that is dearer than life.
Eyes by me lighted grow brighter,
Hearts by me warmed are glad,
Homes where I live are lighter,
And sorrowing souls less sad.
When the bridal flowers have withered,
I do not pine away,
My flowers bloom and are gathered
In November as in May.
They fade not, this home perfuming,
As they did so long ago
Here they shall still be blooming,

SLEEP.

But come to me, O Sleep! I love thy spell,
Although thy waving mirror hath no power
To stay the visions of the midnight hour,
Or, like the certain shapes of day, compel
The forms that haunt the shade of memory's cell
To stand before me. Come and bring thy dreams!
I love to see the dim and wavering gleams,
As journeying downward to thy mystic dell,
I stand beside thy deep and shadowy lake;
Still let me come and wander at thy will,
Through summer woods, by stream and sunny hill,

Old Time is a pilgrim — with onward course
He journeys for months, for years;
But the trav'ller to-day must halt perforce —
Behold, a broad river appears!
" Pass me over, " Time cried; " O! tarry not,
For I count each hour with my glass:
Ye whose skiff is moored to yon pleasant spot —
Young maidens, old Time come pass! "

Many maids saw with pity, upon the bank,
The old man with his glass in grief;
Their kindness, he said, he would ever thank,
If they'd row him across in their skiff.

O! 'twas all but a dream at the best —
And still when happiest, soonest o'er:
But e'en in a dream to be blest
Is so sweet, that I ask for no more!
The bosom that opes
With earliest hopes
The soonest finds those hopes untrue;
Like flowers that first
In spring-time burst,
The soonest wither too!
Oh, 'twas all but, &c.

By friendship we've oft been deceived,
And love, even love, too soon is past;
But friendship will still be believed,
And love trusted on to the last;

Now in the chapel, ye shall understand,
When sat those knights and ladies, gazing all
On one another, ranged on either hand,
Ere that the chants began, it did befall
That Mano cast his eyes on Blanche the Fair;
And of a bitter love became the thrall;
Oh, bitterly love's thrall, Oh, then and there
So that, although erewhile to Italy
He had been purposed swiftly to repair,
His mind was changed, and he gan secretly
Devise to tarry longer in that place:
Which was his first fall from integrity

G ENTIE , but generous, modest, pure, and learned,
Ready to hear the fool, or teach the wise,
With gracious heart that all within him burned
To wipe the tears from virtue's blessed eyes,
And help again the struggling right to rise,
Such an one, like a god, have I discerned
Walking in goodness this polluted earth,
And cannot choose but love him: to my soul,
Swayed irresistibly with sweet control,
So rare and noble seems thy precious worth,
That the young fibres of my happier heart,

How fair and facile seems the upland road,
Surely the mountain air is fresh and sweet,
And briskly shall I bear this mortal load
With well-braced sinews and unweary feet;
How dear my fellow-pilgrims oft to meet
O'ertaken, as to reach yon blest abode
We strive together, in glad hope to greet,
With angel friends and our approving God,
All that in life we once have loved so well,
So that we loved be worthy: her bright wings
My willing spirit plumes, and upward springs
Rejoicing, over crag, and fen, and fell,

When Thou, in patient ministry,
Didst pass a stranger through Thy land,
Two costly gifts were offered Thee,
And each was from a woman's hand.

To Thee, who madest all things fair,
Twice fair and precious things they bring; —
Pure sculptured alabaster clear,
Perfumes for earth's anointed King.

Man's hasty lips would both reprove, —
One for the stain of too much sin,
One for the waste of too much love;
Yet both availed Thy smile to win.

The saint who listened at Thy feet,

He clothes thy soul in spotless dress,
In bridal raiment white and clean,
The spirit's bridal robe of peace,
Sign of the inward grace unseen.

The love that sweeps thy spirit o'er,
Effacing every stain of sin,
Flows through thy spirit evermore,
A well of heavenly life within.

Thus, hallowed names, forgotten long,
Familiar names which once were thine,
With all the old attraction strong,
Embrace thy soul from lips Divine.

Soft from a Father's house above
Floats down on thee the name of child,