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Sonnet LVI.
Amor con sue promesse lusingando.LOVE CHAINS ARE STILL DEAR TO HIM. By promise fair and artful flatteryMe Love contrived in prison old to snare,And gave the keys to her my foe in care,Who in self-exile dooms me still to lie.Alas! his wiles I knew not until IWas in their power, so sharp yet sweet to bear,(Man scarce will credit it although I swear)That I regain my freedom with a sigh,And, as true suffering captives ever do,Carry of my sore chains the greater part,And on my brow and eyes so writ my heartThat when she witnesseth my cheek's wan hueA sigh shall own: if right I read his face,Between him and his tomb but small the space!MACGREGOR.
Francesco Petrarca
Echo
Come to me in the silence of the night; Come in the speaking silence of a dream;Come with soft rounded cheeks and eyes as bright As sunlight on a stream; Come back in tears,O memory, hope, love of finished years.Oh dream how sweet, too sweet, too bitter sweet, Whose wakening should have been in Paradise,Where souls brimfull of love abide and meet; Where thirsting longing eyes Watch the slow doorThat opening, letting in, lets out no more.Yet come to me in dreams, that I may live My very life again though cold in death:Come back to me in dreams, that I may give Pulse for pulse, breath for breath: Speak low, lean low,As long ago, my love, how long ago!
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Before The Birth Of One Of Her Children
All things within this fading world hath end,Adversity doth still our joys attend;No ties so strong, no friends so dear and sweet,But with death's parting blow is sure to meet.The sentence past is most irrevocable,A common thing, yet oh, inevitable.How soon, my Dear, death may my steps attend.How soon't may be thy lot to lose thy friend,We both are ignorant, yet love bids meThese farewell lines to recommend to thee,That when that knot's untied that made us one,I may seem thine, who in effect am none.And if I see not half my days that's due,What nature would, God grant to yours and you;The many faults that well you knowI have Let be interred in my oblivious grave;If any worth or virtue were in me,Let that live freshly in thy memoryAn...
Anne Bradstreet
Assumption
IA mile of moonlight and the whispering wood:A mile of shadow and the odorous lane:One large, white star above the solitude,Like one sweet wish: and, laughter after pain,Wild-roses wistful in a web of rain.IINo star, no rose, to lesson him and lead;No woodsman compass of the skies and rocks, -Tattooed of stars and lichens, - doth love needTo guide him where, among the hollyhocks,A blur of moonlight, gleam his sweetheart's locks.IIIWe name it beauty - that permitted part,The love-elected apotheosisOf Nature, which the god within the heart,Just touching, makes immortal, but by this -A star, a rose, the memory of a kiss.
Madison Julius Cawein
Glad Sight Wherever New With Old
Glad sight wherever new with oldIs joined through some dear homeborn tie;The life of all that we beholdDepends upon that mystery.Vain is the glory of the sky,The beauty vain of field and grove,Unless, while with admiring eyeWe gaze, we also learn to love.
William Wordsworth
Yasmini
At night, when Passion's ebbing tide Left bare the Sands of Truth,Yasmini, resting by my side, Spoke softly of her youth."And one" she said "was tall and slim, Two crimson rose leaves made his mouth,And I was fain to follow him Down to his village in the South."He was to build a hut hard by The stream where palms were growing,We were to live, and love, and lie, And watch the water flowing."Ah, dear, delusive, distant shore, By dreams of futile fancy gilt!The riverside we never saw, The palm leaf hut was never built!"One had a Tope of Mangoe trees, Where early morning, noon and late,The Persian wheels, with patient ease, Brought up their liquid, silver freight."A...
Adela Florence Cory Nicolson
Golden Silence
I told her I loved her and begged but a word,One dear little word, that would beFor me by all odds the most sweet ever heard,But never a word said she!I raged at her then, and I said she was cold;I swore she was nothing to me;I prayed her the cause of her silence unfold,But never a word said she!I covered with kisses her delicate hand,But she only glanced down where the seaLow murmured in ripples of love on the sand,And never a word said she!I cast her hand from me with rage unsuppressed,And she turned her blue eyes up to meAnd smiled as she laid her fair head on my breast;What need of a word? asked she.
Ellis Parker Butler
Music
O Music! if thou hast a charmThat may the sense of pain disarm,Be all thy tender tones addressedTo soothe to peace my Harriet's breast;And bid the magic of thy strainSo still the wakeful throb of pain,That, rapt in the delightful measure,Sweet Hope again may whisper pleasure,And seem the notes of Spring to hear,Prelusive to a happier year!And if thy magic can restoreThe shade of days that smile no more,And softer, sweeter colours giveTo scenes that in remembrance live;Be to her pensive heart a friend,And, whilst the tender shadows blend,Recall, ere the brief trace be lost,Each moment that she prized the most.Perhaps, when many a cheerful dayHereafter shall have stolen away,If then some old and favourite strainShoul...
William Lisle Bowles
Realisation
Hers was a lonely, shadowed lot;Or so the unperceiving thought,Who looked no deeper than her face,Devoid of chiselled lines of grace -No farther than her humble grate,And wondered how she bore her fate.Yet she was neither lone nor sad;So much of love her spirit had,She found an ever-flowing springOf happiness in everything.So near to her was Nature's heartIt seemed a very living partOf her own self; and bud and blade,And heat and cold, and sun and shade,And dawn and sunset, Spring and Fall,Held raptures for her, one and all.The year's four changing seasons broughtTo her own door what thousands soughtIn wandering ways and did not find -Diversion and content of mind.She loved the tasks that filled e...
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
After Love
There is no magic any more,We meet as other people do,You work no miracle for meNor I for you.You were the wind and I the sea,There is no splendor any more,I have grown listless as the poolBeside the shore.But though the pool is safe from stormAnd from the tide has found surcease,It grows more bitter than the sea,For all its peace.
Sara Teasdale
Looking Forward.
How busily those little fingers softThat within mine own are clasped so oftHave been, throughout this bright summer day,With pebbles and shells and leaves at play.They have sought birds' nests, plucked many a flower,Have decked with mosses the garden bower,Built tiny boats, without helm to steer,Yet floated them safe o'er the lakelet clear.Ah! a time will come, and that ere long,When those soft hands will grow firm and strong;When they'll fling all boyish toys asideIn the dawning strength of manhood's pride;Disdaining the prizes, the treasures gay,That they seize with such eager haste to-day;And parting with youth's joys, hopes and fears,Seek to grasp the aims of manhood's years.Be it, then, thy care, my gentle boy,That new-bo...
Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
To The Moon.
Bush and vale thou fill'st againWith thy misty ray,And my spirit's heavy chainCastest far away.Thou dost o'er my fields extendThy sweet soothing eye,Watching like a gentle friend,O'er my destiny.Vanish'd days of bliss and woeHaunt me with their tone,Joy and grief in turns I know,As I stray alone.Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!Ne'er can I be gay!Thus have sport and kisses gone,Truth thus pass'd away.Once I seem'd the lord to beOf that prize so fair!Now, to our deep sorrow, weCan forget it ne'er.Murmur, stream, the vale along,Never cease thy sighs;Murmur, whisper to my songAnswering melodies!
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Mentem Mortalia Tangunt
Now lonely is the wood: No flower now lingers, none!The virgin sisterhood Of roses, all are gone;Now Autumn sheds her latest leaf;And in my heart is grief.Ah me, for all earth rears, The appointed bound is placed!After a thousand years The great oak falls at last:And thou, more lovely, canst not stay,Sweet rose, beyond thy day.Our life is not the life Of roses and of leaves;Else wherefore this deep strife, This pain, our soul conceives?The fall of ev'n such short-lived thingsTo us some sorrow brings.And yet, plant, bird, and fly Feel no such hidden fire.Happy they live; and die Happy, with no desire.They in their brief life have fulfill'dAll Nature in them will'...
Manmohan Ghose
The Language Of Flowers.
Fly swift, my light gazelle, To her who now lies waking,To hear thy silver bell The midnight silence breaking.And, when thou com'st, with gladsome feet, Beneath her lattice springing,Ah, well she'll know how sweet The words of love thou'rt bringing.Yet, no--not words, for they But half can tell love's feeling;Sweet flowers alone can say What passion fears revealing.A once bright rose's withered leaf, A towering lily broken,--Oh these may paint a grief No words could e'er have spoken.Not such, my gay gazelle, The wreath thou speedest overYon moonlight dale, to tell My lady how I love her.And, what to her will sweeter be Than gems the richest, rarest,--From Truth's i...
Thomas Moore
A Letter From A Girl To Her Own Old Age
Listen, and when thy hand this paper presses,O time-worn woman, think of her who blessesWhat thy thin fingers touch, with her caresses.O mother, for the weight of years that break thee!O daughter, for slow time must yet awake thee,And from the changes of my heart must make thee.O fainting traveller, morn is grey in heaven.Dost thou remember how the clouds were driven?And are they calm about the fall of even?Pause near the ending of thy long migration,For this one sudden hour of desolationAppeals to one hour of thy meditation.Suffer, O silent one, that I remind theeOf the great hills that stormed the sky behind thee,Of the wild winds of power that have resigned thee.Know that the mournful plain where thou must wander
Alice Christiana Thompson Meynell
Uschk Name. - One Pair More.
Love is indeed a glorious prize!What fairer guerdon meets our eyes?Though neither wealth nor power are thine,A very hero thou dost shine.As of the prophet, they will tell,Wamik and Asia's tale as well.They'll tell not of them, they'll but giveTheir names, which now are all that live.The deeds they did, the toils they provedNo mortal knows! But that they lovedThis know we. Here's the story trueOf Wamik and of Asia too.
Time And Love.
Time flies. The swift hours hurry by And speed us on to untried ways; New seasons ripen, perish, die, And yet love stays. The old, old love - like sweet, at first, At last like bitter wine - I know not if it blest or curst Thy life and mine. Time flies. In vain our prayers, our tears! We cannot tempt him to delays; Down to the past he bears the years, And yet love stays. Through changing task and varying dream We hear the same refrain, As one can hear a plaintive theme Run through each strain. Time flies. He steals our pulsing youth; He robs us of our care-free days; He takes away our trust and truth: And yet love s...
Sonnet CLX.
Pasco la mente d' un sì nobil cibo.TO SEE AND HEAR HER IS HIS GREATEST BLISS. I feed my fancy on such noble food,That Jove I envy not his godlike meal;I see her--joy invades me like a flood,And lethe of all other bliss I feel;I hear her--instantly that music rareBids from my captive heart the fond sigh flow;Borne by the hand of Love I know not where,A double pleasure in one draught I know.Even in heaven that dear voice pleaseth well,So winning are its words, its sound so sweet,None can conceive, save who had heard, their spell;Thus, in the same small space, visibly, meetAll charms of eye and ear wherewith our raceArt, Genius, Nature, Heaven have join'd to grace.MACGREGOR. Such noble aliment...