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Young Love XIII - Met Once More
O Lady, I have looked on thee once more,Thou too hast looked on me, as thou hadst said,And though the joy was pain, the pain was bliss,Bliss that more happy lovers well may miss:Captives feast richly on a little bread,So are we very rich who are so poor.
Richard Le Gallienne
To - .
1.I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden,Thou needest not fear mine;My spirit is too deeply ladenEver to burthen thine.2.I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion,Thou needest not fear mine;Innocent is the heart's devotionWith which I worship thine.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Love, Not Duty
Thought may well be ever ranging,And opinion ever changing,Task-work be, though ill begun,Dealt with by experience better;By the law and by the letterDuty done is duty doneDo it, Time is on the wing!Hearts, tis quite another thing,Must or once for all be given,Or must not at all be given;Hearts, tis quite another thing!To bestow the soul awayIs an idle duty-play!Why, to trust a life-long blissTo caprices of a day,Scarce were more depraved than this!Men and maidens, see you mind it;Show of love, whereer you find it,Look if duty lurk behind it!Duty-fancies, urging onWhither love had never gone!Loving if the answering breastSeem not to be thus possessed,Still in hoping have a car...
Arthur Hugh Clough
Romneys Remorse
BEAT, little heartI give you this and thisWho are you? What! the Lady Hamilton?Good, I am never weary painting you.To sit once more? Cassandra, Hebe, Joan,Or spinning at your wheel beside the vineBacchante, what you will; and if I failTo conjure and concentrate into formAnd colour all you are, the fault is lessIn me than Art. What Artist ever yetCould make pure light live on the canvas? Art!Why should I so disrelish that short word?Where am I? snow on all the hills! so hot,So feverd! never colt would more delightTo roll himself in meadow grass than ITo wallow in that winter of the hills.Nurse, were you hired? or came of your own willTo wait on one so broken, so forlorn?Have I not met you somewhere long ago?I am all but sure I h...
Alfred Lord Tennyson
The Wish
That you might happier be than all the rest,Than I who have been happy loving you,Of all the innocent even the happiest--This I beseeched for you.Until I thought of those unending skies--Of stagnant cloud, or fleckless dull blue air,Of days and nights delightless, no surprise,No threat, no sting, no fear;And of the stirless waters of the mind,Waveless, unfurrowed, of no living hue,With dead eaves dropping slowly in no wind,And nothing flowering new.And then no more I wished you happiness,But that whatever fell of joy or woeI would not dare, O Sweet, to wish it less,Or wish you less than you.
John Frederick Freeman
Italy
There is a country in my mind,Lovelier than a poet blindCould dream of, who had never knownThis world of drought and dust and stoneIn all its ugliness: a placeFull of an all but human grace;Whose dells retain the printed formOf heavenly sleep, and seem yet warmFrom some pure body newly risen;Where matter is no more a prison,But freedom for the soul to knowIts native beauty. For things glowThere with an inward truth and areAll fire and colour like a star.And in that land are domes and towersThat hang as light and bright as flowersUpon the sky, and seem a birthRather of air than solid earth.Sometimes I dream that walking thereIn the green shade, all unawareAt a new turn of the golden glade,I shall see her, and ...
Aldous Leonard Huxley
At Parting.
What is there left for us to say,Now it has come to say good-by?And all our dreams of yesterdayHave vanished in the sunset sky -What is there left for us to say,Now different ways before us lie?A word of hope, a word of cheer,A word of love, that still shall last,When we are far to bring us nearThrough memories of the happy past;A word of hope, a word of cheer,To keep our sad hearts true and fast.What is there left for us to do,Now it has come to say farewell?And care, that bade us once adieu,Returns again with us to dwell -What is there left for us to do,Now different ways our fates compel?Clasp hands and sigh, touch lips and smile,And look the love that shall remain -When severed so by many a mile -
Madison Julius Cawein
When Other Friends.
When other friends are round thee,And other hearts are thine--When other bays have crowned thee,More fresh and green than mine--Then think how sad and lonelyThis doating heart will be,Which, while it beats, beats only,Beloved one, for thee!Yet do not think I doubt thee,I know thy truth remains;I would not live without thee,For all the world contains.Thou art the start that guides meAlong life's troubled sea;And whatever fate betides me,This heart still turns to thee.
George Pope Morris
Duty surviving Self-Love
The only sure friend of declining lifeA SoliloquyUnchanged within, to see all changed without,Is a blank lot and hard to bear, no doubt.Yet why at others' Wanings should'st thou fret?Then only might'st thou feel a just regret,Hadst thou withheld thy love or hid thy lightIn selfish forethought of neglect and slight.O wiselier then, from feeble yearnings freed,While, and on whom, thou may'st, shine on! nor heedWhether the object by reflected lightReturn thy radiance or absorb it quite:And tho' thou notest from thy safe recessOld Friends burn dim, like lamps in noisome air,Love them for what they are ; nor love them less,Because to thee they are not what they were
Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Céleste
Of sweethearts I have had a score, And time may bring as many more;Tho' I remember all the rest, Just now I worship dear Céleste;Hers may not be the greatest love, But ah! it is the latest love. For little Cupid's never stupid, As I've found out; And love is truest when 'tis newest, Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.Of sweethearts I have had a score, Céleste says I deserve no more;I take revenge on dear Céleste, By telling her I love her best;Hers may not be the greatest love, But ah! it is the latest love. For little Cupid's never stupid, As I've found out; And love is truest when 'tis newest, Beyond a doubt, beyond a doubt.
Arthur Macy
Rhymes On The Road. Extract XI. Florence.
No--'tis not the region where Love's to be found-- They have bosoms that sigh, they have glances that rove,They have language a Sappho's own lip might resound, When she warbled her best--but they've nothing like Love.Nor is't that pure sentiment only they want, Which Heaven for the mild and the tranquil hath made--Calm, wedded affection, that home-rooted plant Which sweetens seclusion and smiles in the shade;That feeling which, after long years have gone by, Remains like a portrait we've sat for in youth,Where, even tho' the flush of the colors may fly, The features still live in their first smiling truth;That union where all that in Woman is kind, With all that in Man most ennoblingly towers,Grow wreathed into...
Thomas Moore
She Cannot End.
When unto thee I sent the page all white,Instead of first thereon inscribing aught,The space thou doubtless filledst up in sport.And sent it me, to make my joy grow bright.As soon as the blue cover met my sight,As well becomes a woman, quick as thoughtI tore it open, leaving hidden nought,And read the well-known words of pure delight:MY ONLY BEING! DEAREST HEART! SWEET CHILD!How kindly thou my yearning then didst stillWith gentle words, enthralling me to thee.In truth methought I read thy whispers mildWherewith thou lovingly my soul didst fill,E'en to myself for aye ennobling me.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
To Woman.
Woman! experience might have told meThat all must love thee, who behold thee:Surely experience might have taughtThy firmest promises are nought;But, plac'd in all thy charms before me,All I forget, but to adore thee.Oh memory! thou choicest blessing,When join'd with hope, when still possessing;But how much curst by every loverWhen hope is fled, and passion's over.Woman, that fair and fond deceiver,How prompt are striplings to believe her!How throbs the pulse, when first we viewThe eye that rolls in glossy blue,Or sparkles black, or mildly throwsA beam from under hazel brows!How quick we credit every oath,And hear her plight the willing troth!Fondly we hope 'twill last for ay,When, lo! she changes in a day.This record wil...
George Gordon Byron
The Question To Lisetta
What nymph should I admire or trust,But Chloe beauteous, Chloe just?What nymph should I desire to see,But her who leaves the plain for me?To whom should I compose the lay,But her who listens when I play?To whom in song repeat my cares,But her who in my sorrow shares?For whom should I the garland make,But her who joys the gift to take,And boasts she wears it for my sake?In love am I not fully blest?Lisetta, prithee tell the rest.Lisetta's Reply:Sure Chloe just, and Chloe fair,Deserves to be your only care;But, when you and she to-dayFar into the wood did stray,And I happen'd to pass by,Which way did you cast your eye?But, when your cares to her you sing,You dare not tell her whence they spring:Does...
Matthew Prior
Reasons
IYea, why I love thee let my heart repeat:I look upon thy face and then divineHow men could die for beauty, such as thine,--Deeming it sweetTo lay my life and manhood at thy feet,And for a word, a glance,Do deeds of old romance.IIYea, why I love thee let my heart unfold:I look into thy heart and then I knowThe wondrous poetry of the long-ago,The Age of Gold,That speaks strange music, that is old, so old,Yet young, as when 't was born,With all the youth of morn.IIIYea, why I love thee let my heart conclude:I look into thy soul and realizeThe undiscovered meaning of the skies,--That long have wooedThe world with far ideals that elude,--Out of whose dre...
The Passing Of The Rose
A White Rose said, "How fair am I.Behold a flower that cannot die!"A lover brushed the dew aside,And fondly plucked it for his bride."A fitting choice!" the White Rose cried.The maiden wore it in her hair;The Rose, contented to be there,Still proudly boasted, "None so fair!"Then close she pressed it to her lips,But, weary of companionships,The flower within her bosom slips.O'ercome by all the beauty there,It straight confessed, "Dear maid, I swear'Tis you, and you alone, are fair!"Turning its humbled head aside,The envious Rose, lamenting, died.
Love's Last Adieu.
[Greek: Aeì d' aeí me pheugei.] - [Pseud.] ANACREON, [Greek: Eis chruson].1.The roses of Love glad the garden of life,Though nurtur'd 'mid weeds dropping pestilent dew,Till Time crops the leaves with unmerciful knife,Or prunes them for ever, in Love's last adieu!2.In vain, with endearments, we soothe the sad heart,In vain do we vow for an age to be true;The chance of an hour may command us to part,Or Death disunite us, in Love's last adieu!3.Still Hope, breathing peace, through the grief-swollen breast,Will whisper, "Our meeting we yet may renew:"With this dream of deceit, half our sorrow's represt,Nor taste we the poison, of Love's last adieu!4.Oh! mark you yon pair,...
Sympathy.
TO JULIA. --sine me sit nulla Venus. SULPICIA.Our hearts, my love, were formed to beThe genuine twins of Sympathy, They live with one sensation;In joy or grief, but most in love,Like chords in unison they move, And thrill with like vibration.How oft I've beard thee fondly say,Thy vital pulse shall cease to play When mine no more is moving;Since, now, to feel a joy aloneWere worse to thee than feeling none, So twined are we in loving!