I don't know what it is,
but I distrust myself
when I start to like a girl
a lot.

It's gone, the yearning in my heart
You're longtime now forgotten;
The days are crawling, torn apart,
All pale, and cold, and rotten.

Yet love, be it one tender ray,
Life into them would pour.
But gone's my longing, gone away
And I can love no more.

It was not only once, it will go this way,
In our fight, which is deaf and destroying:
As it happened before, you rebuffed me today –
To return, like a slave, by the morning.

Therefore, don’t be stressed, my inimical friend,
My friend - enemy, caught by black laces,
If the moans of love will be moans of pain
And the kisses will leave bloody traces.

It was a lover and his lass,
   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
That o'er the green corn-field did pass,
   In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

Between the acres of the rye,
   With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino,
These pretty country folks would lie,
   In the spring time, the only pretty ring time,
When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding;
Sweet lovers love the spring.

It nods and curtseys and recovers
When the wind blows above,
The nettle on the graves of lovers
That hanged themselves for love.

The nettle nods, the wind blows over,
The man, he does not move,
The lover of the grave, the lover
That hanged himself for love.

(You say) It is not love, it is madness
My madness may be the cause of your fame
Sever not my relationship with you
If nothing then be my enemy
What is the meaning of notoriety in meeting me
If not in public court meet me alone
I am not my own enemy
So what if the stranger is in love with you
Whatever you are, it is due to your own being
If this not known then it is ignorance
Life though fleets like a lightening flash
Yet it is abundant Time to be in love
I do not want debate on the sustenance of love

Never again the sight of her?
Never her winsome smile
Shall light the path of my journeying
O'er many a weary mile?
Never again shall her soft voice come
To cheer me all the while?
O Thou, who hearest from above,
Tell me, is this the price of love?

Never again the touch of her lips?
Never her dark, brown eyes
Shall shine on me with the dancing joy
Of stars in the summer skies?
Never again shall my song be aught
Save minor chords of sighs?
O Thou, who hearest from above,

Is there a bitter pang for love removed,
O God! The dead love doth not cost more tears
Than the alive, the loving, the beloved—
Not yet, not yet beyond all hopes and fears!
Would I were laid
Under the shade
Of the calm grave, and the long grass of years,—

That love might die with sorrow:—I am sorrow;
And she, that loves me tenderest, doth press
Most poison from my cruel lips, and borrow
Only new anguish from the old caress;
Oh, this world's grief
Hath no relief

In being wrung from a great happiness.

O we have loved you through cold and rain
And pitiless frost,
Consuming our offering of blood and brain
Gladly again and again and again,
Though it all seemed lost,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will fight, fight on for you till
Your anguish is past,
The wronged ones righted, the tyrants still. —
Though God has not saved you, yet we will,
At the last, at the last,
Ireland, Ireland!
O we will love you in warmth and light
And the happy day,
When you have forgotten the terrible night,
Standing proud and beautiful bright
For ever and aye,

Homage to Shiva-Shakti
The first and greatest of lovers,
Whose love bears the burden of cosmic mysteries;
Then obeisance to Ganesha, Lord of the masses,
Remover of obstacles, who loves dance, music, poetry,
And all the arts: vouchsafe the safe passage
Of this slender verse-offering at Love's shrine;
Look benignly on a beginner's faltering muse,
Which totters even as it commences
Not unlike a new-born heifer struggling to get on its feet,
Lowing in feeble and pitiful accents for its Mother;
Thus I humbly invoke your blessings: