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Etheline
The heart that once was rich with light,And happy in your grace,Now lieth cold beneath the scornThat gathers on your face;And every joy it knew before,And every templed dream,Is paler than the dying flashOn yonder mountain stream.The soul, regretting foundered blissAmid the wreck of years,Hath mourned it with intensityToo deep for human tears!The forest fadeth underneathThe blast that rushes byThe dripping leaves are white with death,But Love will never die!We both have seen the starry mossThat clings where Ruin reigns,And one must know his lonely breastAffection still retains;Through all the sweetest hopes of life,That clustered round and round,Are lying now, like withered things,Forsaken on the ...
Henry Kendall
My Heart And Lute.
I give thee all--I can no more-- Tho' poor the offering be;My heart and lute are all the store That I can bring to thee.A lute whose gentle song reveals The soul of love full well;And, better far, a heart that feels Much more than lute could tell.Tho' love and song may fail, alas! To keep life's clouds away,At least 'twill make them lighter pass, Or gild them if they stay.And even if Care at moments flings A discord o'er life's happy strain,Let Love but gently touch the strings, 'Twill all be sweet again!
Thomas Moore
She, To Him II
Perhaps, long hence, when I have passed away,Some other's feature, accent, thought like mine,Will carry you back to what I used to say,And bring some memory of your love's decline.Then you may pause awhile and think, "Poor jade!"And yield a sigh to me as ample due,Not as the tittle of a debt unpaidTo one who could resign her all to you -And thus reflecting, you will never seeThat your thin thought, in two small words conveyed,Was no such fleeting phantom-thought to me,But the Whole Life wherein my part was played;And you amid its fitful masqueradeA Thought as I in yours but seem to be.1866.
Thomas Hardy
Ball.
One two, is one to you:One two three, is one to me.Throw it fast or not at all,And mind you do not let it fall.Fairy Blue EyesAnd Fairy Brown,And dear little Golden Curls,Look down.I say "Good-bye""Good-bye" with no painTill some happy dayWe meet again!
Kate Greenaway
To ..........
Let other bards of angels sing,Bright suns without a spot;But thou art no such perfect thing:Rejoice that thou art not!Heed not tho' none should call thee fair;So, Mary, let it beIf nought in loveliness compareWith what thou art to me.True beauty dwells in deep retreats,Whose veil is unremovedTill heart with heart in concord beats,And the lover is beloved.
William Wordsworth
Love Is Enough
Love is enough. Let us not ask for gold. Wealth breeds false aims, and pride, and selfishness;In those serene, Arcadian days of old Men gave no thought to princely homes and dress.The gods who dwelt on fair Olympia's heightLived only for dear love and love's delight. Love is enough.Love is enough. Why should we care for fame? Ambition is a most unpleasant guest:It lures us with the glory of a name Far from the happy haunts of peace and rest.Let us stay here in this secluded placeMade beautiful by love's endearing grace! Love is enough.Love is enough. Why should we strive for power? It brings men only envy and distrust.The poor world's homage pleases but an hour, And earthly honours vanish in th...
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
To A Rose
O rose! forbear to flaunt yourself, All bloom and dew -I once, sad-hearted as I am, Was young as you.But, one by one, the petals fell Earthward to rot;Only a berry testifies A rose forgot.
Richard Le Gallienne
To ----
Welcome, dear Heart, and a most kind good-morrow;The day is gloomy, but our looks shall shine: -Flowers I have none to give thee, but I borrowTheir sweetness in a verse to speak for thine.Here are red roses, gather'd at thy cheeks, -The white were all too happy to look white:For love the rose, for faith the lily speaks;It withers in false hands, but here 'tis bright!Dost love sweet Hyacinth? Its scented leafCurls manifold, - all love's delights blow double:'Tis said this flow'ret is inscribed with grief, -But let that hint of a forgotten trouble.I pluck'd the Primrose at night's dewy noon;Like Hope, it show'd its blossoms in the night; -'Twas, like Endymion, watching for the Moon!And here are Sun-flowers, amorous of light!
Thomas Hood
Starlight Recollections.
'Twas night. Near the murmuring Saone, We met with no witnesses by,But such as resplendently shone In the blue-tinted vault of the sky:Your head on my bosom was laid, As you said you would ever be mine;And I promised to love, dearest maid, And worship alone at your shrine.Your love on my heart gently fell As the dew on the flowers at eve,Whose blossoms with gratitude swell, A blessing to give and receive:And I knew by the glow on your cheek, And the rapture you could not control,No power had language to speak The faith or content of your soul.I love you as none ever loved-- As the steel to the star I am true;And I, dearest maiden, have proved That none ever loved me but you.Ti...
George Pope Morris
Domestic Peace
Why should such gloomy silence reign,And why is all the house so drear,When neither danger, sickness, pain,Nor death, nor want, have entered here?We are as many as we wereThat other night, when all were gayAnd full of hope, and free from care;Yet is there something gone away.The moon without, as pure and calm,Is shining as that night she shone;But now, to us, she brings no balm,For something from our hearts is gone.Something whose absence leaves a void--A cheerless want in every heart;Each feels the bliss of all destroyed,And mourns the change--but each apart.The fire is burning in the grateAs redly as it used to burn;But still the hearth is desolate,Till mirth, and love, and PEACE return.'T...
Anne Bronte
Touching "Never."
Because you never yet have loved me, dear,Think you you never can nor ever will?Surely while life remains hope lingers still,Hope the last blossom of life's dying year.Because the season and mine age grow sere,Shall never Spring bring forth her daffodil,Shall never sweeter Summer feast her fillOf roses with the nightingales they hear?If you had loved me, I not loving you,If you had urged me with the tender pleaOf what our unknown years to come might do(Eternal years, if Time should count too few),I would have owned the point you pressed on me,Was possible, or probable, or true.
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Thou Art To Me
Thou art to meAs are soft breezes to a summer sea; As stars unto the night; Or when the day is born, As sunrise to the morn;As peace unto the fading of the light. Thou art to meAs one sweet flower upon a barren lea; As rest to toiling hands;As one clear spring amid the desert sands; As smiles to maidens' lips;As hope to friends that wait for absent ships; As happiness to youth; As purity to truth; As sweetest dreams to sleep;As balm to wounded hearts that weep.All, all that I would have thee be Thou art to me.
Arthur Macy
Love In Youth And Age. First Reading.
Tornami al tempo.Bring back the time when blind desire ran free, With bit and rein too loose to curb his flight; Give back the buried face, once angel-bright, That hides in earth all comely things from me;Bring back those journeys ta'en so toilsomely, So toilsome-slow to one whose hairs are white; Those tears and flames that in one breast unite; If thou wilt once more take thy fill of me!Yet Love! Suppose it true that thou dost thrive Only on bitter honey-dews of tears. Small profit hast thou of a weak old man.My soul that toward the other shore doth strive, Wards off thy darts with shafts of holier fears; And fire feeds ill on brands no breath can fan.
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni
Earth's Moments Of Gloom.
"The heart knoweth its own bitterness"The heart hath its moments of hopeless gloom,As rayless as is the dark night of the tomb;When the past has no spell, the future no ray,To chase the sad cloud from the spirit away;When earth, though in all her rich beauty arrayed,Hath a gloom o'er her flowers - o'er her skies a dark shade,And we turn from all pleasure with loathing away,Too downcast, too spirit sick, even to pray!Oh! where may the heart seek, in moments like this,A whisper of hope, or a faint gleam of bliss?When friendship seems naught but a cold, cheerless flame,And love a still falser and emptier name;When honors and wealth are a wearisome chain,Each link interwoven with grief and with pain,And each solace or joy that the spiri...
Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Lux E Tenebris
I thank all Gods that I can let thee go,Lady, without one thought, one base desireTo tarnish that clear vision I gained by fire,One stain in me I would not have thee know.That is great might indeed that moves me soTo look upon thy Form, and yet aspireTo look not there, rather than I should mireThat wingéd Spirit that haunts and guards thy brow.So now I see thee go, secure in thisThat what I have is thee, that whole of theeWhereof thy fair infashioning is sign:For I see Honour, Love, and Wholesomeness,And striving ever to reach them, and to beAs they, I keep thee still; for they are thine.
Maurice Henry Hewlett
Love Came To Us In Time Gone By
Love came to us in time gone byWhen one at twilight shyly playedAnd one in fear was standing nigh,For Love at first is all afraid.We were grave lovers. Love is pastThat had his sweet hours many a one;Welcome to us now at the lastThe ways that we shall go upon.
James Joyce
To .......
With all my soul, then, let us part, Since both are anxious to be free;And I will sand you home your heart, If you will send mine back to me.We've had some happy hours together, But joy must often change its wing;And spring would be but gloomy weather, If we had nothing else but spring.'Tis not that I expect to find A more devoted, fond and true one,With rosier cheek or sweeter mind-- Enough for me that she's a new one.Thus let us leave the bower of love, Where we have loitered long in bliss;And you may down that pathway rove, While I shall take my way through this.
A Fleeting Passion
Thou shalt not laugh, thou shalt not romp,Let's grimly kiss with bated breath;As quietly and solemnlyAs Life when it is kissing Death.Now in the silence of the grave,My hand is squeezing that soft breast;While thou dost in such passion lie,It mocks me with its look of rest.But when the morning comes at last,And we must part, our passions cold,You'll think of some new feather, scarfTo buy with my small piece of gold;And I'll be dreaming of green lanes,Where little things with beating heartsHold shining eyes between the leaves,Till men with horses pass, and carts.
William Henry Davies