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From England's Helicon
Faire Loue rest thee heere,Neuer yet was morne so cleere,Sweete be not vnkinde,Let me thy fauour finde, Or else for loue I die.Harke this pretty bubling spring,How it makes the Meadowes ring,Loue now stand my friend,Heere let all sorrow end, And I will honour thee.See where little Cupid lyes,Looking babies in her eyes.Cupid helpe me now,Lend to me thy bowe, To wound her that wounded me.Heere is none to see or tell,All our flocks are feeding by,This Banke with Roses spred,Oh it is a dainty bed, Fit for my Loue and me.Harke the birds in yonder Groaue,How they chaunt vnto my Loue,Loue be kind to me,As I haue beene to thee, For thou hast wonne...
Michael Drayton
Oh, Call It By Some Better Name.
Oh, call it by some better name, For Friendship sounds too cold,While Love is now a worldly flame, Whose shrine must be of gold:And Passion, like the sun at noon, That burns o'er all he sees,Awhile as warm will set as soon-- Then call it none of these.Imagine something purer far, More free from stain of clayThan Friendship, Love, or Passion are, Yet human, still as they:And if thy lip, for love like this, No mortal word can frame,Go, ask of angels what it is, And call it by that name!
Thomas Moore
The Sea-Shell
Oh, fairy palace of pink and pearlFrescoed with filigree silver-white,Down in the silence beneath the seaGod by Himself must have fashioned theeJust for His own delight!But no! - For a dumb and shapeless thingStirring in darkness its little hour,Thy walls were built with infinite care,Thou sea-scented home, so fine and fair,Perfect - and like a flower!
Virna Sheard
A Maiden To Her Mirror
He said he loved me! Then he called my hair Silk threads wherewith sly Cupid strings his bow, My cheek a rose leaf fallen on new snow;And swore my round, full throat would bring despairTo Venus or to Psyche. Time and care Will fade these locks; the merry god, I trow, Uses no grizzled cords upon his bow.How will it be when I, no longer fair, Plead for his kiss with cheeks whence long agoThe early snowflakes melted quite away,The rose leaf died -and in whose sallow clay Lie the deep sunken tracks of life's gaunt crow?When this full throat shall wattle fold on fold, Like some ripe peach left drying on a wall, Or like a spent accordion, when allIts music has exhaled -will love grow cold?
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Chosen Cliff.
Here in silence the lover fondly mused on his loved one;Gladly he spake to me thus: "Be thou my witness, thou stone!Yet thou must not be vainglorious, thou hast many companions;Unto each rock on the plain, where I, the happy one, dwell,Unto each tree of the wood that I cling to, as onward I ramble,'Be thou a sign of my bliss!' shout I, and then 'tis ordain'd.Yet to thee only I lend a voice, as a Muse from the peopleChooseth one for herself, kissing his lips as a friend."
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Lines. After the Manner of the Olden Time.
O Love! the mischief thou hast done!Thou god of pleasure and of pain!--None can escape thee--yes there's one--All others find the effort vain:Thou cause of all my smiles and tears!Thou blight and bloom of all my years!Love bathes him in the morning dews,Reclines him in the lily bells,Reposes in the rainbow hues,And sparkles in the crystal wells,Or hies him to the coral-caves,Where sea-nymphs sport beneath the waves.Love vibrates in the wind-harp's tune--With fays and oreads lingers he--Gleams in th' ring of the watery moon,Or treads the pebbles of the sea.Love rules "the court, the camp, the grove"--Oh, everywhere we meet thee, Love!And everywhere he welcome finds,From cottage-door to palace-porch--Love...
George Pope Morris
The Rose
You have forgot: it once was redWith life, this rose, to which you said,--When, there in happy days gone by,You plucked it, on my breast to lie,--"Sleep there, O rose! how sweet a bedIs thine!--And, heart, be comforted;For, though we part and roses shedTheir leaves and fade, love cannot die.--"You have forgot.So by those words of yours I'm ledTo send it you this day you wed.Look well upon it. You, as I,Should ask it now, without a sigh,If love can lie as it lies dead.--You have forgot.
Madison Julius Cawein
The Rainbow
My heart leaps up when I beholdA Rainbow in the sky:So was it when my life began;So is it now I am a man;So be it when I shall grow old,Or let me die!The Child is father of the man;And I wish my days to beBound each to each by natural piety.
William Wordsworth
All That Love Asks
"All that I ask," says Love, "is just to stand And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes; For in their depths lies largest Paradise.Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand Be granted me, then joy I thought complete Were still more sweet. "All that I ask," says Love, "all that I ask, Is just thy hand-clasp. Could I brush thy cheek As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weakTo tell the bliss in which my soul would bask. There is no language but would desecrate A joy so great. "All that I ask, is just one tender touch Of that soft cheek. Thy pulsing palm in mine, Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine,And those curled lips that tempt me overmuch Turned where I may not seize the supre...
Helen Of Troy
On an ancient vase representing in bas-relief the flight of Helen. This is the vase of Love Whose feet would ever rove O'er land and sea; Whose hopes forever seek Bright eyes, the vermeiled cheek, And ways made free. Do we not understand Why thou didst leave thy land, Thy spouse, thy hearth? Helen of Troy, Greek art Hath made our heart thy heart, Thy mirth our mirth. For Paris did appear, Curled hair and rosy ear And tapering hands. He spoke, the blood ran fast, He touched, and killed the past, And clove its bands. And this, I deem, is why The restless ages sigh, Helen, for thee. Whate'e...
Edgar Lee Masters
Little Nell.
Clasp your arms round her neck to-night, Little Nell,Arms so delicate, soft and white,And yet so strong in love's strange might;Clasp them around the kneeling form,Fold them tenderly close and warm, And who can tellBut such slight links may draw her back,Away from the fatal, fatal track; Who can tell, Little Nell?Press your lips to the lips of snow, Little Nell;Oh baby heart, may you never knowThe anguish that makes them quiver so;But now in her weakness and mortal pain,Let your kisses fall like a dewy rain, And who can tellBut your innocent love, your childish kissMay lure her back from the dread abyss; Who can tell, Little Nell.Lay your cheek on her aching breast, ...
Marietta Holley
The Amulet Of Love.
Io mi son caro assai più.Far more than I was wont myself I prize: With you within my heart I rise in rate, Just as a gem engraved with delicate Devices o'er the uncut stone doth rise;Or as a painted sheet exceeds in price Each leaf left pure and in its virgin state: Such then am I since I was consecrate To be the mark for arrows from your eyes.Stamped with your seal I'm safe where'er I go, Like one who carries charms or coat of mail Against all dangers that his life assailNor fire nor water now may work me woe; Sight to the blind I can restore by you, Heal every wound, and every loss renew.
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni
Fragment: 'When A Lover Clasps His Fairest'.
1.When a lover clasps his fairest,Then be our dread sport the rarest.Their caresses were like the chaffIn the tempest, and be our laughHis despair - her epitaph!2.When a mother clasps her child,Watch till dusty Death has piledHis cold ashes on the clay;She has loved it many a day -She remains, - it fades away.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Fantasia - The Young Girl's Poem
Kiss mine eyelids, beauteous Morn,Blushing into life new-born!Lend me violets for my hair,And thy russet robe to wear,And thy ring of rosiest hueSet in drops of diamond dew!Kiss my cheek, thou noontide ray,From my Love so far awayLet thy splendor streaming downTurn its pallid lilies brown,Till its darkening shades revealWhere his passion pressed its seal!Kiss my lips, thou Lord of light,Kiss my lips a soft good-night!Westward sinks thy golden car;Leave me but the evening star,And my solace that shall be,Borrowing all its light from thee!
Oliver Wendell Holmes
Sonnet - To An Octogenarian
Affections lose their object; Time brings forthNo successors; and, lodged in memory,If love exist no longer, it must die,Wanting accustomed food, must pass from earth,Or never hope to reach a second birth.This sad belief, the happiest that is leftTo thousands, share not Thou; howe'er bereft,Scorned, or neglected, fear not such a dearth.Though poor and destitute of friends thou art,Perhaps the sole survivor of thy race,One to whom Heaven assigns that mournful partThe utmost solitude of age to face,Still shall be left some corner of the heartWhere Love for living Thing can find a place.
A Girl's Faith
Across the miles that stretch between, Through days of gloom or glad sunlight,There shines a face I have not seen Which yet doth make my world more bright.He may be near, he may be far, Or near or far I cannot see,But faithful as the morning star He yet shall rise and come to me.What though fate leads us separate ways, The world is round, and time is fleet.A journey of a few brief days, And face to face we two shall meet.Shall meet beneath God's arching skies, While suns shall blaze, or stars shall gleam,And looking in each other's eyes Shall hold the past but as a dream.But round and perfect and complete, Life like a star shall climb the height,As we two press with willing feet
Amour 39
Die, die, my soule, and neuer taste of ioy,If sighes, nor teares, nor vowes, nor prayers can moue;If fayth and zeale be but esteemd a toy,And kindnes be vnkindnes in my loue.Then, with vnkindnes, Loue, reuenge thy wrong:O sweet'st reuenge that ere the heauens gaue!And with the swan record thy dying song,And praise her still to thy vntimely graue.So in loues death shall loues perfection proueThat loue diuine which I haue borne to you,By doome concealed to the heauens aboue,That yet the world vnworthy neuer knew; Whose pure Idea neuer tongue exprest: I feele, you know, the heauens can tell the rest.
Destiny
Why each is striving, from of old,To love more deeply than he can?Still would be true, yet still grows cold?Ask of the Powers that sport with man!They yokd in him, for endless strife,A heart of ice, a soul of fire;And hurld him on the Field of Life,An aimless unallayd Desire.
Matthew Arnold