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To . Upon The Birth Of Her First-Born Child, March 1833
"Tum porro puer, ut saevis projectus ab undisNavita, nudus humi jacet, etc." Lucretius.Like a shipwrecked Sailor tostBy rough waves on a perilous coast,Lies the Babe, in helplessnessAnd in tenderest nakedness,Flung by labouring nature forthUpon the mercies of the earth.Can its eyes beseech? no moreThan the hands are free to implore:Voice but serves for one brief cry;Plaint was it? or prophecyOf sorrow that will surely come?Omen of man's grievous doom!But, O Mother! by the closeDuly granted to thy throes;By the silent thanks, now tendingIncense-like to Heaven, descendingNow to mingle and to moveWith the gush of earthly love,As a debt to that frail Creature,Instrument of struggling Nature
William Wordsworth
The Goblet.
Once I held a well-carved brimming goblet,In my two hands tightly clasp'd I held it,Eagerly the sweet wine sipp'd I from it,Seeking there to drown all care and sorrow.Amor enter'd in, and found me sitting,And he gently smiled in modest fashion,Smiled as though the foolish one he pitied."Friend, I know a far more beauteous vessel,One wherein to sink thy spirit wholly;Say, what wilt thou give me, if I grant it,And with other nectar fill it for thee?"Oh, how kindly hath he kept his promise!For to me, who long had yearn'd, he grantedThee, my Lida, fill'd with soft affection.When I clasp mine arms around thee fondly,When I drink in love's long-hoarded balsamFrom thy darling lips so true, so faithful,Fill'd with bliss th...
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Lost Love.
Shoo wor a bonny, bonny lass,Her e'en as black as sloas;Her hair a flyin thunner claad,Her cheeks a blowin rooas.Her smile coom like a sunny gleamHer cherry lips to curl;Her voice wor like a murm'ring stream'At flowed throo banks o' pearl.Aw long'd to claim her for mi own,But nah mi love is crost;An aw mun wander on alooan,An mourn for her aw've lost.Aw could'nt ax her to be mine,Wi' poverty at th' door:Aw nivver thowt breet e'en could shineWi' love for one so poor;*/ 92 */But nah ther's summat i' mi breast,Tells me aw miss'd mi way:An lost that lass I loved the bestThroo fear shoo'd say me nay.Aw long'd to claim her for, &c.Aw saunter'd raand her cot at morn,An oft i'th' dar...
John Hartley
Song
Yes, I could love, could softly yieldTo passion all my willing breast,And fondly listen to the voiceThat oft invites me to be blest;That still, when Fancy, lost in bliss,Stands gazing on the form divine,So sweetly whispers to my soul,O make the heavenly Julia thine!But hush, thou fascinating voice!Hence visionary extacy!Yes, I could love, but ah! I fearShe would not deign to smile on me.
Thomas Oldham
A Warning
We that were born, beloved, so far apart,So many seas and lands,The gods, one sudden day, joined heart to heart,Locked hands in hands,Distance relented and became our friend,And met, for our sakes, world's end with world's end.The earth was centred in one flowering plotBeneath thy feet, and all the rest was not.Now wouldst thou rend our nearness, and againBring distance back, and placePoles and equators, mountain range and plain,Between me and thy face,Undoing what the gods divinely planned;Heart, canst thou part? hand, loose me from thy hand?Not twice the gods their slighted gifts bestow;Bethink thee well, beloved, ere thou dost go.
Richard Le Gallienne
Not To Love.
He that will not love must beMy scholar, and learn this of me:There be in love as many fearsAs the summer's corn has ears:Sighs, and sobs, and sorrows moreThan the sand that makes the shore:Freezing cold and fiery heats,Fainting swoons and deadly sweats;Now an ague, then a fever,Both tormenting lovers ever.Would'st thou know, besides all these,How hard a woman 'tis to please,How cross, how sullen, and how soonShe shifts and changes like the moon.How false, how hollow she's in heart:And how she is her own least part:How high she's priz'd, and worth but small;Little thou'lt love, or not at all.
Robert Herrick
Epistle To A Friend
Has then, the Paphian Queen at length prevail'd?Has the sly little Archer, whom my FriendOnce would despise, with all his boyish wiles,Now taken ample vengeance, made thee feelHis piercing shaft, and taught thy heart profaneWith sacred awe, repentant, to confessThe Son of Venus is indeed a God?I greet his triumph; for he has but claim'dHis own; the breast that was by Nature form'dAnd destined for his temple Love has claim'd.The great, creating Parent, when she breathedInto thine earthly frame the breath of life,Indulgently conferr'd on thee a soulOf finer essence, capable to trace,To feel, admire, and love, the fair, the good,Wherever found, through all her various works.And is not Woman, then, her fairest work,Fairest, and oft her ...
Maternal Hope
Lo! at the couch where infant beauty sleeps,Her silent watch the mournful mother keeps:She, while the lovely babe unconscious lies,Smiles on her slumb'ring child with pensive eyes,And weaves a song of melancholy joy:"Sleep, image of thy father! sleep, my boy!No ling'ring hour of sorrow shall be thine,No sigh that rends thy father's heart and mine.Bright, as his manly sire, the son shall be,In form and soul; but, ah! more blest than he!Thy fame, thy worth, thy filial love, at last,Shall soothe his aching heart for all the past;With many a smile my solitude repay,And chase the world's ungenerous scorn away."And say, when summon'd from the world and theeI lay my head beneath the willow-tree,And soothe may parted spirit ling'ring near?O...
Thomas Campbell
A Valentine
Your gran'ma, in her youth, was quiteAs blithe a little maid as you.And, though her hair is snowy white,Her eyes still have their maiden blue,And on her cheeks, as fair as thine,Methinks a girlish blush would glowIf she recalled the valentineShe got, ah! many years ago.A valorous youth loved gran'ma then,And wooed her in that auld lang syne;And first he told his secret whenHe sent the maid that valentine.No perfumed page nor sheet of goldWas that first hint of love he sent,But with the secret gran'pa told--"I love you"--gran'ma was content.Go, ask your gran'ma, if you will,If--though her head be bowed and gray--If--though her feeble pulse be chill--True love abideth not for aye;By that quaint portrait on the ...
Eugene Field
Love And War.
I.How soft is the moon on Glengariff,The rocks seem to melt with the light:Oh! would I were there with dear Fanny,To tell her that love is as bright;And nobly the sun of JulyO'er the waters of Adragoole shines--Oh! would that I saw the green bannerBlaze there over conquering lines.II.Oh! love is more fair than the moonlight,And glory more grand than the sun:And there is no rest for a brave heart,Till its bride and its laurels are won;But next to the burst of our banner,And the smile of dear Fanny, I craveThe moon on the rocks of Glengariff--The sun upon Adragoole's wave.
Thomas Osborne Davis
A Face
If one could have that little head of hersPainted upon a background of pale gold,Such as the Tuscans early art prefers!No shade encroaching on the matchless mouldOf those two lips, which should be opening softIn the pure profile; not as when she laughs,For that spoils all: but rather as if aloftYon hyacinth, she loves so, leaned its staffsBurthen of honey-coloured buds to kissAnd capture twist the lips apart for this.Then her lithe neck, three fingers might surround,How it should waver on the, pale gold groundUp to the fruit-shaped, perfect chin it lifts!I know, Correggio loves to mass, in riftsOf heaven, his angel faces, orb on orbBreaking its outline, burning shades absorb:But these are only massed there, I should think,Waiting to se...
Robert Browning
The Perpetual Wooing.
The dull world clamors at my feetAnd asks my hand and helping sweet;And wonders when the time shall beI'll leave off dreaming dreams of thee.It blames me coining soul and timeAnd sending minted bits of rhyme--A-wooing of thee still.Shall I make answer? This it is:I camp beneath thy galaxiesOf starry thoughts and shining deeds;And, seeing new ones, I must needsArouse my speech to tell thee, dear,Though thou art nearer, I am near--A-wooing of thee still.I feel thy heart-beat next mine own;Its music hath a richer tone.I rediscover in thine eyesA balmier, dewier paradise.I'm sure thou art a rarer girl--And so I seek thee, finest pearl,A-wooing of thee still.With blood of roses on thy lips--Canst...
A Dream.
I thought this heart enkindled lay On Cupid's burning shrine:I thought he stole thy heart away, And placed it near to mine.I saw thy heart begin to melt, Like ice before the sun;Till both a glow congenial felt, And mingled into one!
Thomas Moore
Prothalamion
When the evening came my love said to me:Let us go into the garden now that the sky is cool;The garden of black hellebore and rosemary,Where wild woodruff spills in a milky pool.Low we passed in the twilight, for the wavering heatOf day had waned; and round that shaded plotOf secret beauty the thickets clustered sweet:Here is heaven, our hearts whispered, but our lips spake not.Between that old garden and seas of lazy foamGloomy and beautiful alleys of trees ariseWith spire of cypress and dreamy beechen dome,So dark that our enchanted sight knew nothing but the skies:Veiled with a soft air, drench'd in the roses' muskOr the dusky, dark carnation's breath of clove:No stars burned in their deeps, but through the duskI saw my love's ey...
Francis Brett Young
The Test
I held her hand, the pledge of bliss,Her hand that trembled and withdrew;She bent her head before my kiss...My heart was sure that hers was true.Now I have told her I must part,She shakes my hand, she bids adieu,Nor shuns the kiss. Alas, my heart!Hers never was the heart for you.
Walter Savage Landor
An Old Memory
How sweet the music soundedThat summer long ago,When you were by my side, love,To list its gentle flow.I saw your eyes a-shining,I felt your rippling hair,I kissed your pearly cheek, love,And had no thought of care.And gay or sad the music,With subtle charm replete;I found in after years, love'Twas you that made it sweet.For standing where we heard it,I hear again the strain;It wakes my heart, but thrills itWith sad, mysterious pain.It pulses not so joyousAs when you stood with me,And hand in hand we listenedTo that low melody.Oh, could the years turn back, love!Oh, could events be changedTo what they were that time, love,Before we were estranged;Wert thou once ...
Paul Laurence Dunbar
Love Thy Neighbor (From A Happy Boy)
Love thy neighbor, to Christ be leal!Crush him never with iron-heel,Though in the dust he's lying!All the living responsive awaitLove with power to recreate,Needing alone the trying.
Bjørnstjerne Martinius Bjørnson
To - .
Yet look on me - take not thine eyes away,Which feed upon the love within mine own,Which is indeed but the reflected rayOf thine own beauty from my spirit thrown.Yet speak to me - thy voice is as the toneOf my heart's echo, and I think I hearThat thou yet lovest me; yet thou aloneLike one before a mirror, without careOf aught but thine own features, imaged there;And yet I wear out life in watching thee;A toil so sweet at times, and thou indeedArt kind when I am sick, and pity me...
Percy Bysshe Shelley