love poetry

Epigram

Laying aside his Bow and Torch, a Whip
Severe Love took, and at his side a Scrip;
Then on the patient Oxen doth impose
A Yoak, and in the fertile Furrow sows:
And looking up, good weather Jove , or Thou
(Saith he) Europa's Bull shalt draw my plow.

Horses plainly are descry'd
By the Mark upon their side:
Parthians are distinguished
By the Miters on their Head:
But from all Men else a Lover
I can easily discover,
For upon his easie Breast
Love his Brand-Mark hath imprest.

When I come to the end of the land,
I find the sea,
With edges of cliff and breadths of sand
To pleasure me.

When I raise my town-tired eyes
There is blue and white,
Or kings and castles of stormy skies,
Or joy of night.

When I weary of all I see
And tire even of space,
I hold your love in memory,
And your dear face.

Why is there healing in her love?
Her mind is clear as streams that flow
Down rock-steps to a vale below,
Bearing on spray the Sun's bright bow,
And singing as they move.

I dreamed that all your being was a cup,
Shaped like the hands of an adoring priest.
I dreamed that loving had transposed my blood to wine.
I scented the wine with my low-whispered songs,
So the red liquor was Love's self —

Then with an ecstasy I spilled myself into the cup.

My soul was driven from my body
And waited watching, like pearl-coloured flame;
That flame was prayer,
I prayed you might contain me.

If the arching fulness of the cup be broken,
If Love shall overflow the cup

When I meet you, I greet you with a stare;
Like a poor shy child at a fair.
I will not let you love me — yet am I weak.
I love you so intensely that I cannot speak.
When you are gone, I stand apart,
And whisper to your image in my heart.

I wish no more that beauty walked in light,
Utterly naked to the daily sight.
O rather let some simple dress
Shelter my Woman's loveliness.
So is her beauty love's high prize,
Which I discover with adoring eyes.

Two gifts I gave you, Love and Sorrow,
Of which the last is best,
But O, my Dear! 'Twas bitter giving,
Come here to me and rest.

What victory shall your world deny you,
Now you have wept?
All peace of love I will restore you
When you have slept.

I would carry you in my arms,
My strong One,
As if you were a child;
Over the long grass plains by the sea,
Where dunes are piled.

In the grey light of day that is late
Against wind from the sea I would carry your weight,
Till my body faint, but for love's control,
My soul will not faint to carry your soul.

I, who so weak had fallen to Hell,
Carry my load, and my Love's load well.
Old Sea, let us be steadfast!
New Hills, give us hope of change!
Wind from the sea, cleanse us!

If modest merit ever claim'd thy tear,
Behold this monument, and shed it here:
Here every blooming virtue beam'd in one,
The friend, the lover, and the duteous son.
Bless'd youth! whose bosom Nature form'd to glow
With purest flame the heart of man can know,
Go, where bright angels heavenly raptures prove,
And melt in visions of seraphic love.