Love Thee, Dearest!

Love thee, dearest?--Hear me.--Never
Will my fond vows be forgot!
May I perish, and for ever,
When, dear maid, I love thee not!
Turn not from me, dearest!--Listen!
Banish all thy doubts and fears!
Let thine eyes with transport glisten!
What hast thou to do with tears?

Dry them, dearest!--Ah, believe me,
Love's bright flame is burning still!
Though the hollow world deceive thee,
Here's a heart that never will!
Dost thou smile?--A cloud of sorrow
Breaks before Joy's rising sun!
Wilt thou give thy hand?--To-morrow,
Hymen's bond will make us one!

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

She Loved Him.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

A Wall-Street Lyric.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

King Cotton.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Thou Hast Woven the Spell.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

Suggested Poems

Explore a curated selection of verses that share themes, styles, and emotional resonance with the poem you've just read.

I Love Thee Still.

I never have been false to thee!--
    The heart I gave thee still is thine;
Though thou hast been untrue to me,
    And I no more may call thee mine!
I've loved, as woman ever loves,
    With constant soul in good or ill:
Thou'st proved as man too often proves,
    A rover--but I love thee still!

Yet think not that my spirit stoops
    To bind thee captive in my train!--
Love's not a flower at sunset droops,
    But smiles when comes her god again!
Thy words, which fall unheeded now,
    Could once my heart-strings madly thrill!
Love a golden chain and burning vow
    Are broken--but I love thee still!

Once what a heaven of bliss was ours,
    When love dispelled the clouds of care,
And time went by with birds and flowers,
    While...

George Pope Morris

Love Thee, Dearest? Love Thee?

Love thee, dearest? love thee?
    Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which thro' tears above thee
    Shines so sadly fair;
Tho' often dim,
With tears, like him,
Like him my truth will shine,
    And--love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, till death I'm thine.

Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
    No, that star is not more true;
When my vows deceive thee,
    He will wander too.
A cloud of night
May veil his light,
And death shall darken mine--
    But--leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, till death I'm thine.

Thomas Moore

Fare The Well, Love.

Fare thee well, love!--We must sever!
Nor for years, love; but for ever!
We must meet no more--or only
Meet as strangers--sad and lonely.
            Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love!--How I languish
For the cause of all my anguish!
None have ever met and parted
So forlorn and broken-hearted.
            Fare thee well!

Fare thee well, love--Till I perish
All my truth for thee I'll cherish;
And, when thou my requiem hearest,
Know till death I loved thee, dearest.
            Fare thee well!

George Pope Morris

Oh, Think of Me!

Oh, think of me, my own beloved,
    Whatever cares beset thee!
And when thou hast the falsehood proved,
    Of those with smiles who met thee--
While o'er the sea, think, love, of me,
    Who never can forget thee;
Let memory trace the trysting-place,
    Where I with tears regret thee.

Bright as you star, within my mind,
    A hand unseen hath set thee;
There hath thine image been enshrined,
    Since first, dear love, I met thee;
So in thy breast I fain would rest,
    If, haply, fate would let me--
And live or die, so thou wert nigh,
    To love or to regret me!

George Pope Morris

Wearies my Love?

Wearies my love of my letters?
Does she my silence command?
Sunders she Love's rosy fetters
As though they were woven of sand?
Tires she too of each token
Indited with many a sigh?
Are all her promises broken?
And must I love on till I die?

Thinks my dear love that I blame her
With what was a burden to part?
Ah, no!--with affection I'll name her
While lingers a pulse in my heart.
Although she has clouded with sadness,
And blighted the bloom of my years,
I lover still, even to madness,
And bless her through showers of tears.

My pen I have laid down in sorrow,
The songs of my lute I forego:
From neither assistance I'll borrow
To utter my heart-seated wo!
But peace to her bosom, wherever
Her thoughts or her footsteps may stray...

George Pope Morris

The Welcome and Farewell.

To meet, and part, as we have met and parted,
    One moment cherished and the next forgot,
To wear a smile when almost broken-hearted,
    I know full well is hapless woman's lot;
Yet let me, to thy tenderness appealing,
    Avert this brief but melancholy doom--
Content that close beside the thorn of feeling,
    Grows memory, like a rose, in guarded bloom.

Love's history, dearest, is a sad one ever,
    Yet often with a smile I've heard it told!
Oh, there are records of the heart which never
    Are to the scrutinizing gaze unrolled!
My eyes to thine may scarce again aspire--
    Still in thy memory, dearest let me dwell,
And hush, with this hope, the magnetic wire,
    Wild with our mingled welcome and farewell!

George Pope Morris