love poetry

Let us live my Lesbia and Love,
When Dear desires our bosoms move
And their Quick Zest to pleasures give
Tis then we may be said to live.

2

Kiss me soft my Lovely Love,
Soft and melting as the Dove,
Fondly eager, kind, and sweet,
Thus our mixing Souls may meet,
Let thy gentle
The short transporting Joy prolong.

3

Do not yet thy lips remove,
Kiss me on, my charming Love.
I dye with every pointed kiss,
Oh let me dye in such a bliss,
Renew again the Amorous play

Indeed (my Dear) you wrong my Dog in this,
And show yourself to be of crabbed kind,
That will not let my fawning whelp to kiss
You first, that fain would show his Master's mind:
A Mastiff were more fit for such a one,
That can not let her Lover's dog alone.

He in his kind for me did seem to sue,
That erst did stand so highly in your grace,
His Master's mind the witty Spaniel knew,
And thought his wonted Mistress was in place:
But now at last (good faith) I plainly see
That Dogs more wise than women friendly be.

When every spur of whin's a spike of ice,
Each grassy tussock bristling blades of steel,
Each withered bracken-frond a rare device
Of sparkling crystal crackling under-heel
With brittle tinkling, then it is the time,
O Love, to leave the chilly hearth and climb
The sunlit Beacon, where the live airs blow
Along the clean wave-edge of drifted snow.

Love, let us go
And scale the ridge: I long to see you there
Breathing the eager air
With cheeks aglow,
The sunlight on your hair:
O Love, I long to share

All night under the moon
Plovers are flying
Over the dreaming meadows of silvery light,
Over the meadows of June
Flying and crying —
Wandering voices of love in the hush of the night.

All night under the moon
Love, though we're lying
Quietly under the thatch, in the silvery light
Over the meadows of June
Together we're flying —
Rapturous voices of love in the hush of the night.

Who shall remember love
At the break of day
When the wind blows out to sea
From the circling bay?
Who shall remember love
At the end of night
When the nested birds of the dark
Have taken flight?
When white is the path of the foam
And the waves are filled with light,
Who shall remember love?

Love, whose light thrills heaven and earth,
Smiles and weeps upon thy birth,
Child, whose mother's love-lit eyes
Watch thee but from Paradise.
Sweetest sight that earth can give,
Sweetest light of eyes that live,
Ours must needs, for hope withdrawn,
Hail with tears thy soft spring dawn.
Light of hope whose star hath set,
Light of love whose sun lives yet,
Holier, happier, heavenlier love
Breathes about thee, burns above,
Surely, sweet, than ours can be,
Shed from eyes we may not see,

I

Love, loyallest and lordliest born of things,
Immortal that shouldst be, though all else end,
In plighted hearts of fearless friend with friend,
Whose hand may curb or clip thy plume-plucked wings?
Not grief's nor time's: though these be lords and kings
Crowned, and their yoke bid vassal passions bend,
They may not pierce the spirit of sense, or blend
Quick poison with the soul's live watersprings

I

Queen, for whose house my fathers fought,
With hopes that rose and fell,
Red star of boyhood's fiery thought,
Farewell.

They gave their lives, and I, my queen,
Have given you of my life,
Seeing your brave star burn high between
Men's strife.

The strife that lightened round their spears
Long since fell still: so long

O had we ne'er looed one anither
We had neer been curs'd togither
Never shunned and never hated
Had we never been created

Woman in her own true nature
Is a fair and lovely creature
Man a savage from the wild
But when loved a very child

Had they ne'er been put togither
They'd ne'er slighted ane anither
Rift and scar[r]ed like clouds o' thunder
Now they're lost and lone asunder

Lost in crowds and lone togither
Love says love ye one anither
Love's anither name for sorrow

My ain heart love is thine
If I'd the mair to spare
Love thoughts are pure as heaven divine
They're Truth and naething mair
And thine is truth or has been sae
Till parting made us twain
The spring that makes the grasses grow
Will sure come green again

Thy voice will come a shorter way
Than e'er it did of yore
For we've been married many a day
And coyness now is o'er
Ive wiped the gold dust frae thy shoe
As we clomb the King Cup hill
And brush'd thy new gown often too
And I felt no kind of ill —