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Friendship
When presses hard my load of care,And other friends from me depart,I want a friend my grief to share,With faithful speech and loving heart.I want a friend of noble mind,Who loves me more than praise or pelf,Reproves my faults with spirit kind,And thinks of me as well as self--A friend whose ear is ever closedAgainst traducers' poison breath;And, though in me be not disclosedAn equal love, yet loves till death--A friend who knows my weakness well,And ever seeks to calm my fears;If words should fail the storm to quell,Will soothe my fevered heart with tears--A friend not moved by jealousyShould I outrun him in life's race;And though I doubt, still trusts in meWith loyal heart and cloudless face.
Joseph Horatio Chant
Love And Art.
I.Eagle-heart, child-heart, bonnie lad o' dreams,Far away thy soul hears passion-throated Art Singing where the future lies Wrapped in hues of Paradise, Pleading with her poignant note That forever seems to floatFarther down the vista that is calling to thy heart. Hearken! From the heights Where thy soul alightsBend thine ear to listen for the lute of Love is sighing: "Eagle-heart, child-heart, Love is love, and art is art; Answer while thy lips are red; Wilt thou have a barren bed? Choose between us which to wed:Answer, for thy bride awaits, and fragile hours are flying!"II.Eagle-heart, child-heart, bonnie lad o' dreams,Far aw...
Charles Hamilton Musgrove
A Lover's Vows
Scenes of love and days of pleasure,I must leave them all, lassie.Scenes of love and hours of leisure,All are gone for aye, lassie.No more thy velvet-bordered dressMy fond and longing een shall bless,Thou lily in the wilderness;And who shall love thee then, lassie?Long I've watched thy look so tender,Often clasped thy waist so slender:Heaven, in thine own love defend her,God protect my own lassie.By all the faith I've shown afore thee,I'll swear by more than that, lassie:By heaven and earth I'll still adore thee,Though we should part for aye, lassie!By thy infant years so loving,By thy woman's love so moving,That white breast thy goodness proving,I'm thine for aye, through all, lassie!By the sun that shines for eve...
John Clare
I Loved You, Once
And did you think my heartCould keep its love unchanging,Fresh as the buds that startIn spring, nor know estranging?Listen! The buds depart:I loved you once, but now -I love you more than ever.'T is not the early love;With day and night it alters,And onward still must moveLike earth, that never faltersFor storm or star above.I loved you once; but now -I love you more than ever.With gifts in those glad daysHow eagerly I sought you!Youth, shining hope, and praise:These were the gifts I brought you.In this world little stays:I loved you once, but now -I love you more than ever.A child with glorious eyesHere in our arms half sleeping -So passion wakeful lies;Then grows to manhood, ke...
George Parsons Lathrop
Presence.
All things give token of thee!As soon as the bright sun is shining,Thou too wilt follow, I trust.When in the garden thou walk'st,Thou then art the rose of all roses,Lily of lilies as well.When thou dost move in the dance,Then each constellation moves also;With thee and round thee they move.Night! oh, what bliss were the night!For then thou o'ershadow'st the lustre,Dazzling and fair, of the moon.Dazzling and beauteous art thou,And flowers, and moon, and the planetsHomage pay, Sun, but to thee.Sun! to me also be thouCreator of days bright and glorious;Life and Eternity this!
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Five Letters to my Mother
Good morning sweetheart.Good morning my Saint of a sweetheart.It has been two year mothersince the boy has sailedon his mythical journey.Since he hid within his luggagethe green morning of his homelandand her stars, and her streams,and all of her red poppy.Since he hid in his clothsbunches of mint and thyme,and a Damascene Lilac.I am alone.The smoke of my cigarette is bored,and even my seat of me is boredMy sorrows are like flocking birds looking for a grain field in season.I became acquainted with the women of Europe,I became acquainted with their tired civilization.I toured India, and I toured China,I toured the entire oriental world,and nowhere I found,a Lady to comb my golden hair.A Lady...
Nizar Qabbani
A Weeping Cupid
Why love! I thought you were gay and fair,Merry of mien and debonair.What then means this brow so black,Whose sullen gloom twin eyes give back,Poor little god in tears, alack!Why love! I thought in your smiling cheekDainty dimples played hide and seek;Passing by like a winters night,With stormy sighs from lips all white.Poor little god, how comes your plight?A maiden said you were tall and bold,With an arm of steel and a heart of gold;Whose changing face would make her day;When came a frown, the sunshine playOf smiles would chase the clouds away.A youth once said you were like a maidWith sunny hair in a golden braid;Whose cheeks were each a rose uncurled;And brow a lilybell unfurled;The fairest maid in...
Dora Sigerson Shorter
Love Dislikes Nothing
Whatsoever thing I see,Rich or poor although it be,'Tis a mistress unto me.Be my girl or fair or brown,Does she smile, or does she frown;Still I write a sweet-heart down.Be she rough, or smooth of skin;When I touch, I then beginFor to let affection in.Be she bald, or does she wearLocks incurl'd of other hair;I shall find enchantment there.Be she whole, or be she rent,So my fancy be content,She's to me most excellent.Be she fat, or be she lean;Be she sluttish, be she clean;I'm a man for every scene.
Robert Herrick
To Miss - -
The fairest flowers often fade,And die, alas! too soon,Ere half their life is sped, they droop,And wither in their bloom.But may thy life thro' future years,In healthful beauty shine,And when you think of other days,Think of this wish of mine.
Thomas Frederick Young
Old Love-Letters
You ask and I send. It is well, yea! best:A lily hangs dead on its stalk, ah me!A dream hangs dead on a life it blest.Shall it flaunt its death where sad eyes may seeIn the cold dank wind of our memory?Shall we watch it rot like an empty nest?Love's ghost, poor pitiful mockery -Bury these shreds and behold it shall rest.And shall life fail if one dream be sped?For loss of one bloom shall the lily pass?Nay, bury these deep round the roots, for soIn soil of old dreams do the new dreams grow,New 'Hail' is begot of the old 'Alas.'See, here are our letters, so sweet - so dead.
Richard Le Gallienne
To My First Born.
Fair tiny rosebud! what a tide Of hidden joy, o'erpow'ring, deep,Of grateful love, of woman's pride, Thrills through my heart till I must weepWith bliss to look on thee, my son,My first born child - my darling one!What joy for me to sit and gaze Upon thy gentle, baby face,And, dreaming of far distant days, With mother's weakness strive to traceTokens of future greatness high, On thy smooth brow and lustrous eye.What do I wish thee, darling, say? Is it that lordly mental powerThat o'er thy kind will give thee sway, Unchanging, full, a glorious dowerFor those whose minds may grasp its worth,True rulers and true kings of earth?Or would I ask for thee that fire Of wond'rous genius, great d...
Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
To My Friend.
Dearest of all, whose tenderness could rise To share all sorrow and to soothe all pain;The blessings breathed for thee with weeping eyes Will come to thee as sunshine after rain.My spirit clings to thine, dear, in this hour; Thy sorrow touches me as though 'twere mine;And pleading prayers for thee shall have the power To draw down comfort from my Lord and thine.For thou hast felt the sorrow and the care Of other lives, as though they were thine own;And grateful prayers, for a memorial are Laid up for thee before the great white throne.You sit bereaved, and I sit with you there In sympathy, my soul and yours can meet;Missing the face that was so very fair, Missing the voice that was so very sweet.I...
Nora Pembroke
A Mother Showing The Portrait Of Her Child.
(F.M.L.)Living child or pictured cherub,Ne'er o'ermatched its baby grace;And the mother, moving nearer,Looked it calmly in the face;Then with slight and quiet gesture,And with lips that scarcely smiled,Said - "A Portrait of my daughterWhen she was a child."Easy thought was hers to fathom,Nothing hard her glance to read,For it seemed to say, "No praisesFor this little child I need:If you see, I see far better,And I will not feign to careFor a stranger's prompt assuranceThat the face is fair."Softly clasped and half extended,She her dimpled hands doth lay:So they doubtless placed them, saying -"Little one, you must not play."And while yet his work was growing,This the painter's hand hath...
Jean Ingelow
Anemones.
If I should wish hereafter that your heartShould beat with one fair memory of me,May Time's hard hand our footsteps guide apart,But lead yours back one spring-time to the Lea.Nodding Anemones,Wind-flowers pale,Bloom with the budding trees,Dancing to every breeze,Mock hopes more fair than these,Love's vows more frail.For then the grass we loved grows green again,And April showers make April woods more fair;But no sun dries the sad salt tears of pain,Or brings back summer lights on faded hair,Nodding Anemones,Wind-flowers pale,Bloom with the budding trees,Dancing to every breeze,Mock hopes more frail than these,Love's vows more frail.
Juliana Horatia Ewing
The Lover Asks Forgiveness Because Of His Many Moods
If this importunate heart trouble your peaceWith words lighter than air,Or hopes that in mere hoping flicker and cease;Crumple the rose in your hair;And cover your lips with odorous twilight and say,"O Hearts of wind-blown flame!O Winds, older than changing of night and day,That murmuring and longing cameFrom marble cities loud with tabors of oldIn dove-grey faery lands;From battle-banners, fold upon purple fold,Queens wrought with glimmering hands;That saw young Niamh hover with love-lorn faceAbove the wandering tide;And lingered in the hidden desolate placeWhere the last Phoenix died,And wrapped the flames above his holy head;And still murmur and long:O piteous Hearts, changing till change be deadIn a tumultuous song':...
William Butler Yeats
Song
I.Nay but you, who do not love her,Is she not pure gold, my mistress?Holds earth aught, speak truth, above her?Aught like this tress, see, and this tress,And this last fairest tress of all,So fair, see, ere I let it fall?II.Because, you spend your lives in praising;To praise, you search the wide world over;Then why not witness, calmly gazing,If earth holds aught, speak truth, above her?Above this tress, and this, I touchBut cannot praise, I love so much!
Robert Browning
Beauty
A thing of beauty is a joy forever;Its loveliness increases; it will neverPass into nothingness; but still will keepA bower quiet for us, and a sleepFull of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
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