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To Mary
Mary, I love to singAbout the flowers of Spring,For they resemble thee.In the earliest of the yearThy beauties will appear,And youthful modesty.Here's the daisy's silver rim,With gold eye never dim,Spring's earliest flower so fair.Here the pilewort's golden raysSet the cow green in a blaze,Like the sunshine in thy hair.Here's forget-me-not so blue;Is there any flower so true?Can it speak my happy lot?When we courted in disguiseThis flower I used to prize,For it said "Forget-me-not."Speedwell! And when we meetIn the meadow paths so sweet,Where the flowers I gave to theeAll grew beneath the sun,May thy gentle heart be won,And I be blest with thee.
John Clare
Two Minds
Your mind and mine are such great lovers theyHave freed themselves from cautious human clay,And on wild clouds of thought, naked togetherThey ride above us in extreme delight;We see them, we look up with a lone envyAnd watch them in their zone of crystal weatherThat changes not for winter or the night.
Sara Teasdale
Amour 26
Cupid, dumbe-Idoll, peeuish Saint of loue,No more shalt thou nor Saint nor Idoll be;No God art thou, a Goddesse shee doth proue,Of all thine honour shee hath robbed thee.Thy Bowe, halfe broke, is peec'd with old desire;Her Bowe is beauty with ten thousand stringsOf purest gold, tempred with vertues fire,The least able to kyll an hoste of Kings.Thy shafts be spent, and shee (to warre appointed)Hydes in those christall quiuers of her eyesMore Arrowes, with hart-piercing mettel poynted,Then there be starres at midnight in the skyes. With these she steales mens harts for her reliefe, Yet happy he thats robd of such a thiefe!
Michael Drayton
Young Love Postscript
So sang young Love in high and holy dreamOf a white Love that hath no earthly taint,So rapt within his vision he did seemLess like a boyish singer than a saint.Ah, Boy, it is a dream for life too high,It is a bird that hath no feet for earth:Strange wings, strange eyes, go seek another skyAnd find thy fellows of an equal birth.For many a body-sweet material thing,What canst thou give us half so dear as these?We would not soar amid the stars to sing,Warm and content amid the nested trees.Young Seraph, go and lake thy song to heaven,We would not grow unhappy with our lot,Leave us the simple love the earth hath given -Sing where thou wilt, so that we hear thee not.
Richard Le Gallienne
What Gain?
Now, while thy rounded cheek is fresh and fair, While beauty lingers, laughing, in thine eyes,Ere thy young heart shall meet the stranger, "Care," Or thy blithe soul become the home of sighs,Were it not kindness should I give thee restBy plunging this sharp dagger in thy breast?Dying so young, with all thy wealth of youth,What part of life wouldst thou not claim, in sooth? Only the woe, Sweetheart, that sad souls know.Now, in this sacred hour of supreme trust, Of pure delight and palpitating joy,Ere change can come, as come it surely must, With jarring doubts and discords, to destroyOur far too perfect peace, I pray thee, Sweet,Were it not best for both of us, and meet,If I should bring swift death to seal our bl...
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Consider The Lilies Of The Field
Flowers preach to us if we will hear: -The rose saith in the dewy morn:I am most fair;Yet all my loveliness is bornUpon a thorn.The poppy saith amid the corn:Let but my scarlet head appearAnd I am held in scorn;Yet juice of subtle virtue liesWithin my cup of curious dyes.The lilies say: Behold how wePreach without words of purity.The violets whisper from the shadeWhich their own leaves have made:Men scent our fragrance on the air,Yet take no heedOf humble lessons we would read.But not alone the fairest flowers:The merest grassAlong the roadside where we pass,Lichen and moss and sturdy weed,Tell of His love who sends the dew,The rain and sunshine too,To nourish one small seed.
Christina Georgina Rossetti
Blessed Among Women
To the Signora CairoliBlessed was she that bare,Hidden in flesh most fair,For all mens sake the likeness of all love;Holy that virgins womb,The old record saith, on whomThe glory of God alighted as a dove;Blessed, who brought to gracious birthThe sweet-souled Saviour of a man-tormented earth.But four times art thou blest,At whose most holy breastFour times a godlike soldier-saviour hung;And thence a fourfold ChristGiven to be sacrificedTo the same cross as the same bosom clung;Poured the same blood, to leave the sameLight on the many-folded mountain-skirts of fame.Shall they and thou not live,The children thou didst giveForth of thine hands, a godlike gift, t...
Algernon Charles Swinburne
Sonnet XVII.
My love, and not I, is the egoist.My love for thee loves itself more than thee;Ay, more than me, in whom it doth exist,And makes me live that it may feed on me.In the country of bridges the bridge isMore real than the shores it doth unsever;So in our world, all of Relation, thisIs true--that truer is Love than either lover.This thought therefore comes lightly to Doubt's door--If we, seeing substance of this world, are notMere Intervals, God's Absence and no more,Hollows in real Consciousness and Thought. And if 'tis possible to Thought to bear this fruit, Why should it not be possible to Truth?
Fernando António Nogueira Pessoa
Solitude.
Oh ye kindly nymphs, who dwell 'mongst the rocks and the thickets,Grant unto each whatsoe'er he may in silence desire!Comfort impart to the mourner, and give to the doubter instruction,And let the lover rejoice, finding the bliss that he craves.For from the gods ye received what they ever denied unto mortals,Power to comfort and aid all who in you may confide.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Experience
Three memories hold us everWith longing and with pain;Three memories Time has neverBeen able to restrain;That in each life remainA part of heart and brain.The first 's of that which taught usTo follow, Beauty still;Who to the Fountain brought usOf ancient good and ill,And bade us drink our fillAt Life's wild-running rill.The second one, that 's drivenOf anguish and delight,Holds that which showed us Heaven,Through Love's triumphant might;And, deep beneath its height,Hell, sighing in the night.The third none follows after:Its form is veiled and dim;Its eyes are tears and laughter,That look beyond the rimOf earth and point to Him,Who rules the Seraphim.
Madison Julius Cawein
An Exception
In all romances, old and new,And in all lovers rhymesI find one rule that has held trueSince prehistoric times.The lover must, if he indeedBe hit by Cupids dart,Grow pale, sigh much, neglect his food,And wholly lose his heart.Now fain would I abide this ruleBut I, forsooth, grow redAnd hot, and stammer like a fool,And only lose my head.
Ellis Parker Butler
Discovery
What is it now that I shall seekWhere woods dip downward, in the hills;A mossy nook, a ferny creek,And May among the daffodils.Or in the valley's vistaed glow,Past rocks of terraced trumpet-vines,Shall I behold her coming slow,Sweet May, among the columbines?With red-bud cheeks and bluet eyes,Big eyes, the homes of happiness,To meet me with the old surprise,Her hoiden hair all bonnetless.Who waits for me, where, note for note,The birds make glad the forest trees?A dogwood blossom at her throat,My May among th' anemones.As sweetheart breezes kiss the blooms,And dewdrops drink the moonlight's gleam,My soul shall kiss her lips' perfumes,And drink the magic of her dreams.
Lessons For A Child
I.There breathes not a breath of the summer airBut the spirit of love is moving there;Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree,Flutters with hundreds in harmony,But that spirit can part its tone from the rest,And read the life in its beetle's breast.When the sunshiny butterflies come and go,Like flowers paying visits to and fro,Not a single wave of their fanning wingsIs unfelt by the spirit that feeleth all things.The long-mantled moths that sleep at noonAnd rove in the light of the gentler moon;And the myriad gnats that dance like a wall,Or a moving column that will not fall;And the dragon-flies that go burning by,Shot like a glance from a seeking eye--There is one being that loves them all:Not a fly in a spider's web can fal...
George MacDonald
To An Absentee.
O'er hill, and dale, and distant sea,Through all the miles that stretch between,My thought must fly to rest on thee,And would, though worlds should intervene.Nay, thou art now so dear, methinksThe farther we are forced apart,Affection's firm elastic linksBut bind the closer round the heart.For now we sever each from each,I learned what I have lost in thee;Alas, that nothing else could teachHow great indeed my love should be!Farewell! I did not know thy worth;But thou art gone, and now 'tis prized:So angels walk'd unknown on earth,But when they flew were recognized!
Thomas Hood
Nature
As a fond mother, when the day is o'er, Leads by the hand her little child to bed, Half willing, half reluctant to be led, And leave his broken playthings on the floor,Still gazing at them through the open door, Nor wholly reassured and comforted By promises of others in their stead, Which, though more splendid, may not please him more;So Nature deals with us, and takes away Our playthings one by one, and by the hand Leads us to rest so gently, that we goScarce knowing if we wish to go or stay, Being too full of sleep to understand How far the unknown transcends the what we know.
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
What Soft, Cherubic Creatures
What soft, cherubic creaturesThese gentlewomen are!One would as soon assault a plushOr violate a star.Such dimity convictions,A horror so refinedOf freckled human nature,Of Deity ashamed, --It's such a common glory,A fisherman's degree!Redemption, brittle lady,Be so, ashamed of thee.
Emily Elizabeth Dickinson
By the Spring, at Sunset
Sometimes we remember kisses, Remember the dear heart-leap when they came: Not always, but sometimes we remember The kindness, the dumbness, the good flame Of laughter and farewell. Beside the road Afar from those who said "Good-by" I write, Far from my city task, my lawful load. Sun in my face, wind beside my shoulder, Streaming clouds, banners of new-born night Enchant me now. The splendors growing bolder Make bold my soul for some new wise delight. I write the day's event, and quench my drouth, Pausing beside the spring with happy mind. And now I feel those kisses on my mouth, Hers most of all, one little friend most kind.
Vachel Lindsay
To Some Ladies
What though while the wonders of nature exploring,I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend;Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiasts friend:Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes,With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove;Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews.Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling?Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare?Ah! you list to the nightingales tender condoling,Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air.'Tis morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping,I see you are treading the verge of the sea:And now! ah, I see it, you just now are stoopingTo pick up the keep-sake intend...
John Keats