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A Birthday Gift
No gift I bring but worship, and the love Which all must bear to lovely souls and pure, Those lights, that, when all else is dark, endure;Stars in the night, to lift our eyes above;To lift our eyes and hearts, and make us move Less doubtful, though our journey be obscure, Less fearful of its ending, being sureThat they watch over us, where'er we rove.And though my gift itself have little worth, Yet worth it gains from her to whom 'tis given, As a weak flower gets colour from the sun.Or rather, as when angels walk the earth, All things they look on take the look of heaven-- For of those blessed angels thou art one.
Robert Fuller Murray
Love's Caution
Tell them, when you are home again, How warm the air was now;How silent were the birds and leaves, And of the moon's full glow; And how we saw afar A falling star:It was a tear of pure delightRan down the face of Heaven this happy night.Our kisses are but love in flower, Until that greater timeWhen, gathering strength, those flowers take wing, And Love can reach his prime. And now, my heart's delight, Good night, good night;Give me the last sweet kiss,But do not breathe at home one word of this!
William Henry Davies
Suleika Name. - Book Of Suleika.
Once, methought, in the night hours cold,That I saw the moon in my sleep;But as soon as I waken'd, beholdUnawares rose the sun from the deep.THAT Suleika's love was so strongFor Joseph, need cause no surprise;He was young, youth pleaseth the eyes,He was fair, they say, beyond measureFair was she, and so great was their pleasure.But that thou, who awaitedst me long,Youthful glances of fire dost throw me,Soon wilt bless me, thy love now dost show me,This shall my joyous numbers proclaim,Thee I for ever Suleika shall name. 1815.-Suleika Name. - Book Of Suleika. HATEM.NOT occasion makes the thief;She's the greatest of the whole;For Love's relics, to my ...
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
To Sylva
I know thou art true, and I know thou art fairAs the rose-bud that blooms in thy beautiful hair;Thou art far, but I feel the warm throb of thy heart;Thou art far, but I love thee wherever thou art.Wherever at noontide my spirit may be,At evening it silently wanders to thee;It seeks thee, my dear one, for comfort and rest,As the weary-winged dove seeks at night-fall her nest.Through the battle of life through its sorrow and careTill the mortal sink down with its load of despair,Till we meet at the feet of the Father and Son,I'll love thee and cherish thee, beautiful one.
Hanford Lennox Gordon
Love's Phases
Love hath the wings of the butterfly,Oh, clasp him but gently,Pausing and dipping and fluttering byInconsequently.Stir not his poise with the breath of a sigh;Love hath the wings of the butterfly.Love hath the wings of the eagle bold,Cling to him strongly--What if the look of the world be cold,And life go wrongly?Rest on his pinions, for broad is their fold;Love hath the wings of the eagle bold.Love hath the voice of the nightingale,Hearken his trilling--List to his song when the moonlight is pale,--Passionate, thrilling.Cherish the lay, ere the lilt of it fail;Love hath the voice of the nightingale.Love hath the voice of the storm at night,Wildly defiant.Hear him and yield up your soul to his might,
Paul Laurence Dunbar
A Thought
The summer rose the sun has flushedWith crimson glory may be sweet;'Tis sweeter when its leaves are crushedBeneath the wind's and tempest's feet.The rose that waves upon its tree,In life sheds perfume all around;More sweet the perfume floats to meOf roses trampled on the ground.The waving rose with every breathScents carelessly the summer air;The wounded rose bleeds forth in deathA sweetness far more rich and rare.It is a truth beyond our ken --And yet a truth that all may read --It is with roses as with men,The sweetest hearts are those that bleed.The flower which Bethlehem saw bloomOut of a heart all full of grace,Gave never forth its full perfumeUntil the cross became its vase.
Abram Joseph Ryan
Cupido
The solid, solid universeIs pervious to Love;With bandaged eyes he never errs,Around, below, above.His blinding lightHe flingeth whiteOn God's and Satan's brood,And reconcilesBy mystic wilesThe evil and the good.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
The Lover's Sacrifice.
("Fuyons ensemble.")[HERNANI, Act II.]DONNA SOL. Together let us fly!HERNANI. Together? No! the hour is past for flight.Dearest, when first thy beauty smote my sight,I offered, for the love that bade me live,Wretch that I was, what misery had to give:My wood, my stream, my mountain. Bolder grown,By thy compassion to an outlaw shown,The outlaw's meal beneath the forest shade,The outlaw's couch far in the greenwood glade,I offered. Though to both that couch be free,I keep the scaffold block reserved for me.DONNA SOL. And yet you promised?HERNANI (falls on his knee.) Angel! in this hour,Pursued by vengeance and oppressed by power -Even in this hour when death prepares to closeIn shame a...
Victor-Marie Hugo
Comfort Ye, Comfort Ye My People
(Noel.)By the sad fellowship of human suffering, By the bereavements that are thine and mine,I venture--oh, forgive me!--with this offering, I would it were to thee God's oil and wineI too have suffered--is it then surprising If to thy sacred grief I enter in?My spirit draws near thine all sympathising, Sorrow, like love, "makes aliens near of kin."Thou'rt weeping for thy gathered blossoms, mother, The Lord had need of him, and called him soon,In morning freshness ere the dews of heaven Were chased before the burning rays of noon.Thy darling child, like to God's summer blossom, Was very fair and pleasant to the sight,The sunny head that rested on thy bosom, The loving eyes that were thy hear...
Nora Pembroke
Lucy Hooper
They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead,That all of thee we loved and cherishedHas with thy summer roses perished;And left, as its young beauty fled,An ashen memory in its stead,The twilight of a parted dayWhose fading light is cold and vain,The heart's faint echo of a strainOf low, sweet music passed away.That true and loving heart, that giftOf a mind, earnest, clear, profound,Bestowing, with a glad unthrift,Its sunny light on all around,Affinities which only couldCleave to the pure, the true, and good;And sympathies which found no rest,Save with the loveliest and best.Of them, of thee, remains there naughtBut sorrow in the mourner's breast?A shadow in the land of thought?No! Even my weak and trembling faithCan lift for...
John Greenleaf Whittier
Spring Lilies.
'Neath their green and cool cathedrals,In the garden lilies bloom,Casting to the fresh Spring ZephyrsPeal on peal of sweet perfume.Often have I, pausing near themWhen the sunset flushed the sky,Seen the coral bells vibratingWith their fragrant harmony.And, within my quiet dwelling,I have now a Lily fair,Whose young spirit's sweet Spring buddingWatch I with unfailing care:God, in placing her beside me,Made my being most complete,And my heart keeps time for everWith the music of her feet.I remember not, while gazingIn her earnest eyes of blue,That the earth has aught of sorrowAught less innocent and true;And the restlessness and longingWakened by the cares of day,With the burden and the tumult,
Mary Gardiner Horsford
The Lover To His Lass
Crown her with stars, this angel of our planet,Cover her with morning, this thing of pure delight,Mantle her with midnight till a mortal cannotSee her for the garments of the light and the night.How far I wandered, worlds away and far away,Heard a voice but knew it not in the clear cold,Many a wide circle and many a wan star away,Dwelling in the chambers where the worlds were growing old.Saw them growing old and heard them fallingLike ripe fruit when a tree is in the wind;Saw the seraphs gather them, their clarion voices callingIn rounds of cheering labour till the orchard floor was thinned.Saw a whole universe turn to its setting,Old and cold and weary, gray and cold as death,But before mine eyes were veiled in forgetting,Something...
Duncan Campbell Scott
Mother And Child
One night a tiny dewdrop fellInto the bosom of a rose,--"Dear little one, I love thee well,Be ever here thy sweet repose!"Seeing the rose with love bedight,The envious sky frowned dark, and thenSent forth a messenger of lightAnd caught the dewdrop up again."Oh, give me back my heavenly child,--My love!" the rose in anguish cried;Alas! the sky triumphant smiled,And so the flower, heart-broken, died.
Eugene Field
Missed.
Pity the child who never feels A mother's fond caress;That childish smile a void conceals Of aching loneliness.Pity the heart which loves in vain, What balm or mystic spellCan soothe that bosom's secret pain, The pain it may not tell?Pity those missed by Cupid's darts, For 'twas ordained for such,Who love at random, but whose hearts Feel no responsive touch.
Alfred Castner King
The Language Of Love.
Oh! he was a student of mystic lore; And she was a soulful girl All nerves and mind, of the cultured kind The paragon, pride, and pearl. They loved with a neo-Concordic love, Woofed weirdly with wistful woe. They sat in a glen, remote from men, Their converse was high and low. "What marvellous words of marvellous love, Speak marvellous souls like these?" I drew me nigh till their faintest sigh Was heard with the greatest ease. "'Oo's 'ittle white lammy is 'oo?" breathed he; "'Oors. 'Oo's lovey-dovey is 'oo?" "'Oors! 'Oors! Would 'oo k'y if dovey should die?" "No'p! tause 'ittle lammy'd die ...
George Augustus Baker, Jr.
Of Her who Died.
We look up to the stars tonight, Idolatrous of them,And dream that Heaven is in sight,And each a ray of purest light From some celestial gem In her bright diadem.Before that lonely home we wait, Ah! nevermore to seeHer lovely form within the gateWhere heart and hearthstone desolate And vine and shrub and tree Seem asking: "Where is she?"There is the cottage Love had planned - Where hope in ashes lies -A tower beautiful to stand,Her monument whose gentle hand And presence in the skies Make home of Paradise.In wintry bleakness nature glows Beneath the stellar ray;We see the mold, but not the rose,And meditate if knowledge goes Into yon mound of clay, W...
Hattie Howard
Heart-Coldness.
Vorrei voler, Signior.Fain would I wish what my heart cannot will: Between it and the fire a veil of ice Deadens the fire, so that I deal in lies; My words and actions are discordant still.I love Thee with my tongue, then mourn my fill; For love warms not my heart, nor can I rise, Or ope the doors of Grace, who from the skies Might flood my soul, and pride and passion kill.Rend Thou the veil, dear Lord! Break Thou that wall Which with its stubbornness retards the rays Of that bright sun this earth hath dulled for me!Send down Thy promised light to cheer and fall On Thy fair spouse, that I with love may blaze, And, free from doubt, my heart feel only Thee!
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni
My Valentine.
O Dorothy, sweet Dorothy, You make my heart rejoice; Your presence is like Arcady, There's music in your voice; Heaven's purity is on your brow, Its light is in your eyne; I love you, and I ask you now To be my Valentine. Your face is like the lily in The morning's ruddy light; Your dimpled cheeks and tiny chin Are blessings to my sight; Your lips are fairer than the rose And redder far than wine; Your teeth are whiter than the snows: You'll be my Valentine! You are not quite so old as I, You've seen but summers three; And that's no doubt the reason why You are not coy with me. I'll come to you to-morrow,
W. M. MacKeracher