Close Close Previous Poem Next Poem Follow Us on Twitter! Poem of the Day Award Follow Us on Facebook! Follow Us on Twitter! Follow Us on Pinterest! Follow Our Youtube Channel! Follow Our RSS Feed! envelope star quill

Love Poems

Table of Contents

  1. The Serial Interest by Mary E. Tucker
  2. Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa by George Gordon Byron
  3. A Song of Day and Night by Hannah Flagg Gould
  4. To Beauty by Anna Hempstead Branch
  5. A Woman's Hand by Amos Russel Wells
  6. Which Loved Best by Joy Allison
  7. Lord Ullin's Daughter by Thomas Campbell
  8. Surrender by Emily Dickinson
  9. If I can stop one heart from breaking by Emily Dickinson
  10. Love by Emily Dickinson
  11. Love's Humility by Emily Dickinson
  12. The Lovers by Emily Dickinson
  13. We outgrow love like other things by Emily Dickinson
  14. Who has not found the heaven below by Emily Dickinson
  15. Faithless Nelly Gray by Thomas Hood
  16. The House Where We Were Wed by Will Carleton
  17. Apple-Blossoms by Will Carleton
  18. Sea-Birds by Elizabeth Akers
  19. One and Two by Will Carleton
  20. Apples Growing by Will Carleton
  21. Ashes by William Henry Venable
  22. Love by Raymond Garfield Dandridge
  23. Love and Hate by William Francis Barnard
  24. I. by Christopher Pearse Cranch
  25. The Weed's Counsel by Bliss Carman
  26. The Wooing by Laurence Dunbar
  27. Peace by Bliss Carman
  28. Eight O'Clock by Sara Teasdale
  29. The Treasure by Sara Teasdale
  30. "Did You Never Know?" by Sara Teasdale
  31. Mystery by C. S. Calverley
  32. Love by C. S. Calverley
  33. The Hidden Name by Hannah Flagg Gould
  34. Power of Love by James McIntyre
  35. Her Lover's Step by James McIntyre
  36. Moonlight by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  37. Love's Translator by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  38. The Fear of Love by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  39. The Wisdom of Love by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  40. The Footpath by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  41. Presence by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  42. At the Railway Station by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
  43. Pretty Flower by Raymond Garfield Dandridge
  44. Absence and Love by Paul Hamilton Hanyne
  45. The Sea Shell by Arthur Weir
  46. To One Who Loves Red Roses by Arthur Weir
  47. The Love-leaf by Ruby Archer
  48. Coming of Love by Ruby Archer
  49. A Woman's Love by Ruby Archer
  50. A Lesson by Ruby Archer
  51. Antique Love Rhyme by Ruby Archer
  52. Summer and You by Ruby Archer
  53. The Thought of You by Ruby Archer
  54. Daybreak of Love by Ruby Archer
  55. Then and Now by Ruby Archer
  56. She Was a Phantom by William Wordsworth
  57. Love Song by Anonymous
  58. She Being Young by John Charles McNeill
  59. When She Comes by Joseph W. Humphries
  60. Only One by Ellen P. Allerton
  61. My Lady's Hands by R. H. House
  62. Alone by Ruby Archer
  63. Drink Deep by Ruby Archer
  64. Merchantmen by Ruby Archer
  65. Love's Growth by John Donne
  66. Air and Angels by John Donne
  67. The Bait by John Donne
  68. I Love You by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
  69. My Love by James Russell Lowell
  70. In Italy by Bayard Taylor

  1. The Serial Interest

    by Mary E. Tucker

    We thread the serial's magic maze
    Of mingled joy and woe,
    Each turn and trap and tangled phase
    Assiduously we know;
    And through it all we little care
    Though gold is lost or found,
    Though hearts are torn and swords are bare
    And gory is the ground.
    The saints may live, the villain die,
    The prince may sink or swim;
    But "Does it turn out well?" we cry,
    "And did she marry him?"

    Nor are we changed when we peruse
    Life's long, fantastic tale;
    We little reck what heroes choose,
    That knaves succeed or fall;
    Come health or sickness, power or pain,
    Let kingdoms rise or fall,
    The proud may rule, the greedy gain,
    We little heed it all.
    For love we live, for love we die,
    Whatever fates may be:
    "Ah, will it turn out well?" we cry,
    And will she marry me?

  2. Stanzas Written on the Road Between Florence and Pisa

    by George Gordon Byron

    Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story;
    The days of our youth are the days of our glory;
    And the myrtle and ivy of sweet two-and-twenty
    Are worth all your laurels, though ever so plenty.

    What are garlands and crowns to the brow that is wrinkled?
    'Tis but as a dead-flower with May-dew besprinkled:
    Then away with all such from the head that is hoary!
    What care I for the wreaths that can only give glory?

    Oh Fame!—if I e'er took delight in thy praises,
    'Twas less for the sake of thy high-sounding phrases,
    Than to see the bright eyes of the dear one discover,
    She thought that I was not unworthy to love her.

    There chiefly I sought thee, there only I found thee;
    Her glance was the best of the rays that surround thee;
    When it sparkled o'er aught that was bright in my story,
    I knew it was love, and I felt it was glory.

  3. A Song of Day and Night

    by Anonymous

    If all of life were a day, love,
    Thou shouldst be light of it,
    Sparkle and bright of it,
    Fair in thine eyes as the blossoms are spun,
    Sweet in thy voice as the rivulets run;
    Bound in the lure of thee,
    Happily sure of thee,
    Oh, when life is a day, love,
    Thou art my sun!

    If all of life were a night, love,
    Thou shouldst he part of it,
    Centre and heart of it,
    Deep in the dark of thine eyes and thy hair,
    Deep in thy mystery, deep the despair
    Failing thee, finding thee,
    Loosing thee, binding thee;
    Oh, if life were a night, love,--
    What should I care?

  4. To Beauty

    by Anna Hempstead Branch

    I would not have thee far away
    By whom I must be led.
    I needs must have thee every day
    To be my meat and bread.

    For if there be unlovely things
    Wherein no radiance glows,
    I'll kiss them till their folded wings
    Shall blossom like the rose!

    Oh, be thou beautiful, I'll say,—
    And save me with delight!
    Then each dark thing will smile like day
    Between me and the night.

    I'll listen till I make them speak,
    By need will make them wise!
    As love calls blushes to the cheek
    Or laughter to the eyes.

    For where love lays its trusting kiss
    There Beauty needs must be
    And so I'll turn the world to bliss
    Until it shines like thee.

  5. A Woman's Hand

    by Amos Russel Wells

    Soft and tender, smooth and white,
    Formed for winning and delight,
    Nature has no lovelier sight,—
    A woman's hand.

    Wrinkled, worn with much to do,
    Many a task for me and you,
    In all trials good and true,—
    A woman's hand.

    Clasping ours through life and death,
    Lovingly to latest breath,
    Sweetest thing that comforteth,—
    A woman's hand.

  6. Which Loved Best

    by Joy Allison

    "I love you, mother," said little John;
    Then, forgetting work, his cap went on,
    And he was off to the garden swing,
    Leaving his mother the wood to bring.

    "I love you, mother," said rosy Nell;
    "I love you better than tongue can tell;"
    Then she teased and pouted full half the day,
    Till her mother rejoiced when she went to play.

    "I love you, mother," said little Fan;
    "To-day I'll help you all I can;
    How glad I am that school doesn't keep!"
    So she rocked the baby till it fell asleep.

    Then, stepping softly, she took the broom,
    And swept the floor, and dusted the room;
    Busy and happy all day was she,
    Helpful and cheerful as child could be.

    "I love you, mother," again they said—
    Three little children going to bed;
    How do you think that mother guessed
    Which of them really loved her best?

  7. Lord Ullin's Daughter

    by Thomas Campbell

    A chieftain to the Highlands bound,
    Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
    And I'll give thee a silver pound,
    To row us o'er the ferry."

    "Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle
    This dark and stormy water?"
    "Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
    And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.

    "And fast before her father's men
    Three days we've fled together,
    For should he find us in the glen,
    My blood would stain the heather.

    "His horsemen hard behind us ride;
    Should they our steps discover,
    Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
    When they have slain her lover?"

    Out spoke the hardy Highland wight
    "I'll go, my chief—I'm ready:
    It is not for your silver bright,
    But for your winsome lady:

    "And, by my word! the bonny bird
    In danger shall not tarry;
    So, though the waves are raging white,
    I'll row you o'er the ferry."

    By this, the storm grew loud apace,
    The water wraith was shrieking;
    And, in the scowl of heaven, each face
    Grew dark as they were speaking.

    But still, as wilder grew the wind,
    And as the night grew drearer,
    Adown the glen rode armed men,
    Their trampling sounded nearer.

    "Oh I haste thee, haste!" the lady cries
    "Though tempest round us gather,
    I'll meet the raging of the skies,
    But not an angry father."

    The boat has left the stormy land,
    A stormy sea before her;
    When, oh I too strong for human hand,
    The tempest gathered o'er her.

    And still they rowed, amid the roar
    Of waters fast prevailing;
    Lord Ullin reached that fatal shore,
    His wrath was changed to wailing.

    For sore dismay through storm and shade
    His child he did discover;
    One lovely hand she stretched for aid,
    And one was round her lover.

    "Come back! come back!" he cried, in grief,
    "Across this stormy water;
    And I'll forgive your Highland chief,
    My daughter! O, my daughter!"

    'T was vain: the loud waves lashed the shore,
    Return or aid preventing;
    The waters wild went o'er his child,
    And he was left lamenting.

  8. Surrender

    by Emily Dickinson

    Doubt me, my dim companion!
    Why, God would be content
    With but a fraction of the love
    Poured thee without a stint.
    The whole of me, forever,
    What more the woman can, —
    Say quick, that I may dower thee
    With last delight I own!

    It cannot be my spirit,
    For that was thine before;
    I ceded all of dust I knew, —
    What opulence the more
    Had I, a humble maiden,
    Whose farthest of degree
    Was that she might,
    Some distant heaven,
    Dwell timidly with thee!

  9. If I can stop one heart from breaking

    by Emily Dickinson

    If I can stop one heart from breaking, I shall not live in vain;
    If I can ease one life the aching,
    Or cool one pain,
    Or help one fainting robin
    Unto his nest again,
    I shall not live in vain.

  10. Love

    by Emily Dickinson

    Love is anterior to life,
    Posterior to death,
    Initial of creation, and
    The exponent of breath.

  11. Love's Humility

    by Emily Dickinson

    My worthiness is all my doubt,
    His merit all my fear,
    Contrasting which, my qualities
    Do lowlier appear;

    Lest I should insufficient prove
    For his beloved need,
    The chiefest apprehension
    Within my loving creed.

    So I, the undivine abode
    Of his elect content,
    Conform my soul as 't were a church
    Unto her sacrament.

  12. The Lovers

    by Emily Dickinson

    The rose did caper on her cheek,
    Her bodice rose and fell,
    Her pretty speech, like drunken men,
    Did stagger pitiful.

    Her fingers fumbled at her work, —
    Her needle would not go;
    What ailed so smart a little maid
    It puzzled me to know,

    Till opposite I spied a cheek
    That bore another rose;
    Just opposite, another speech
    That like the drunkard goes;

    A vest that, like the bodice, danced
    To the immortal tune, —
    Till those two troubled little clocks
    Ticked softly into one.

  13. We outgrow love like other things

    by Emily Dickinson

    We outgrow love like other things
    And put it in the drawer,
    Till it an antique fashion shows
    Like costumes grandsires wore.

  14. Who has not found the heaven below

    by Emily Dickinson

    Who has not found the heaven below
    Will fail of it above.
    God's residence is next to mine,
    His furniture is love.

  15. Faithless Nelly Gray

    Thomas Hood

    Ben Battle was a soldier bold,
    And used to war's alarms;
    But a cannon ball took off his legs,
    So he laid down his arms!

    Now, as they bore him off the field,
    Said he, "Let others shoot,
    For here I leave my second leg,
    And the Forty-second Foot!"

    The army surgeons made him limbs;
    Said he, "They're only pegs:
    But there's as wooden members quite,
    As represent my legs!"

    Now Ben, he loved a pretty maid,
    Her Name was Nelly Gray;
    So he went to pay her his devoirs,
    When he'd devoured his pay.

    But when he called on Nelly Gray,
    She made him quite a scoff;
    And when she saw his wooden legs,
    Began to take them off!

    "O Nelly Gray! O Nelly Gray!
    Is this your love so warm'?
    The love that loves a scarlet coat
    Should be more uniform!"

    Said she, "I loved a soldier once,
    For he was blithe and brave;
    But I will never have a man
    With both legs in the grave!

    "Before you had these timber toes,
    Your love I did allow,
    But then, you know, you stand upon
    Another footing now!"

    "O false and fickle Nelly Gray!
    I know why you refuse:
    Though I've no feet—some other man
    Is standing in my shoes!

    "I wish I ne'er had seen your face;
    But, now, a long farewell!
    For you will be my death;—alas!
    You will not be my NELL!"

    Now when he went from Nelly Gray,
    His heart so heavy got,
    And life was such a burden grown, It made him take a knot!

    So round his melancholy neck,
    A rope he did entwine,
    And for the second time in life.
    Enlisted in the Line!

    One end he tied around a beam,
    And then removed his pegs,
    And, as his legs were off, of course
    He soon was off his legs.

    And there he hung till he was dead
    As any nail in town:
    For, though distress had cut him up,
    It could not cut him down!

  16. The House Where We Were Wed

    by Will Carleton

    I've been to the old farm-house, good-wife,
    Where you and I were wed;
    Where the love was born to our two hearts
    That now lies cold and dead.
    Where a long-kept secret to you I told,
    In the yellow beams of the moon,
    And we forged our vows out of love's own gold,
    To be broken so soon, so soon!

    I passed through all the old rooms, good-wife;
    I wandered on and on;
    I followed the steps of a flitting ghost,
    The ghost of a love that is gone.
    And he led me out to the arbor, wife,
    Where with myrtles I twined your hair;
    And he seated me down on the old stone step,
    And left me musing there.

    The sun went down as it used to do,
    And sunk in the sea of night;
    The two bright stars that we called ours
    Came slowly unto my sight;
    But the one that was mine went under a cloud—
    Went under a cloud, alone;
    And a tear that I wouldn't have shed for the world,
    Fell down on the old gray stone.

    But there be words can ne'er be unsaid,
    And deeds can ne'er be undone,
    Except perhaps in another world,
    Where life's once more begun.
    And maybe some time in the time to come,
    When a few more years are sped,
    We'll love again as we used to love,
    In the house where we were wed.

  17. Apple-Blossoms

    by Will Carleton

    Underneath an apple-tree
    Sat a maiden and her lover;
    And the thoughts within her he
    Yearned, in silence, to discover.
    Round them danced the sunbeams bright,
    Green the grass-lawn stretched before them;
    While the apple-blossoms white
    Hung in rich profusion o'er them.

    Naught within her eyes he read
    That would tell her mind unto him;
    Though their light, he after said,
    Quivered swiftly through and through him;
    Till at last his heart burst free
    From the prayer with which 'twas laden,
    And he said, "When wilt thou be
    Mine for evermore, fair maiden?"

    "When," said she, "the breeze of May
    With white flakes our heads shall cover,
    I will be thy brideling gay—
    Thou shall be my husband-lover."
    "How," said he, in sorrow bowed,
    "Can I hope such hopeful weather?
    Breeze of May and Winter's cloud
    Do not often fly together."

    Quickly as the words he said,
    From the west a wind came sighing,
    And on each uncovered head
    Sent the apple-blossoms flying;
    "'Flakes of white!' thou'rt mine," said he,
    "Sooner than thy wish or knowing!"
    "Nay, I heard the breeze," quoth she,
    "When in yonder forest blowing."

  18. Sea-Birds

    by Elizabeth Akers

    O lonesome sea-gull, floating far
    Over the ocean's icy waste,
    Aimless and wide thy wanderings are,
    Forever vainly seeking rest:—
    Where is thy mate, and where thy nest?

    'Twixt wintry sea and wintry sky,
    Cleaving the keen air with thy breast,
    Thou sailest slowly, solemnly;
    No fetter on thy wing is pressed:—
    Where is thy mate, and where thy nest?

    O restless, homeless human soul,
    Following for aye thy nameless quest,
    The gulls float, and the billows roll;
    Thou watchest still, and questionest:—
    Where is thy mate, and where thy nest?

  19. Apples Growing

    by Will Carleton

    Underneath an apple-tree
    Sat a dame of comely seeming,
    With her work upon her knee,
    And her great eyes idly dreaming.
    O'er the harvest-acres bright,
    Came her husband's din of reaping;
    Near to her, an infant wight
    Through the tangled grass was creeping.

    On the branches long and high,
    And the great green apples growing,
    Rested she her wandering eye,
    With a retrospective knowing.
    "This," she said, "the shelter is,
    Where, when gay and raven-headed,
    I consented to be his,
    And our willing hearts were wedded.

    "Laughing words and peals of mirth,
    Long are changed to grave endeavor;
    Sorrow's winds have swept to earth
    Many a blossomed hope forever.
    Thunder-heads have hovered o'er—
    Storms my path have chilled and shaded;
    Of the bloom my gay youth bore,
    Some has fruited—more has faded."

    Quickly, and amid her sighs,
    Through the grass her baby wrestled,
    Smiled on her its father's eyes,
    And unto her bosom nestled.
    And with sudden, joyous glee,
    Half the wife's and half the mother's,
    "Still the best is left," said she:
    "I have learned to live for others."

  20. Ashes

    by William Henry Venable

    The fire of love is dead.
    No spark of living red
    The cold gray ashes show.
    Be still! thy sighing breath—
    Can it requicken death?
    Nay, hope not, dream not so.
    Ah, no, no, no!

  21. Love

    by Raymond Garfield Dandridge

    Invisible, saccharined,
    Intoxicating stimulant,
    I drank of you—drank deep of you—
    Until drunk, yea! until
    Drunk, drunk indeed.

    On sobering I find myself
    Unlike the drunkard, blest,
    Who sobers with an aching head;
    For I have sobered
    With an aching heart.

  22. Love and Hate

    by William Francis Barnard

    Love met with Hate within the porch of time,
    As both went forth to traverse every clime.

    They parted at the parting of the ways;
    Love bade farewell, nor knew Hate's baleful gaze.

    And Love was glad of sunlight and moonlight,
    But Hate loved only darkness in the night.

    Love stood entranced while sang th' enraptured birds;
    Hate stopped his ears, and murmured bitter words.

    Love worshipped where the flowers were fair to see;
    Hate turned away and sought some misery.

    Love laughed when rain fell on the fair, green earth,
    But Hate within his heart wished for a dearth.

    Love lingered where the fields would yield increase;
    Hate hoped for blight, that harvest joys might cease.

    Love came at last and saw himself in men,
    And made no sound, for joy; nor wandered then;

    Hate later came; and looking, mad with rage,
    Made himself known, and would in war engage;

    Love gazed upon him, and he fled away,
    As flees the night before the face of day;

    And lived in ambush; making bitterness,
    Envy and scorn, and woe, and all distress.

    But Love, because of his pure soul, was glad
    In all the myriad blessings that time had;

    And so drew in new life with every breath;
    But Hate drank his own poison till his death.

  23. V.

    by Christopher Pearse Cranch

    All loves have frailer roots than loves that start
    From one ancestral blood. The friends we find
    In youth pass on before us, or behind
    Are dropped, or on diverging paths depart,
    While branches from one trunk still own one heart,
    And bud and bear from one maternal mind.
    Sister and brother need no vows to bind
    Their pre-ordained alliance, nor the art
    Of lovers plotting through a thousand fears
    Lest love, of passion born, should fade or change;
    Nor dread the undermining drip of years;
    Nor stand on forms that other souls estrange.
    Such love is ours, and theirs who bear our name,
    Born in the honored home from which we came.

  24. The Weed's Counsel

    by Bliss Carman

    Said a traveller by the way
    Pausing, "What hast thou to say,
    Flower by the dusty road,
    That would ease a mortal's load?"

    Traveller, hearken unto me!
    I will tell thee how to see
    Beauties in the earth and sky
    Hidden from the careless eye.
    I will tell thee how to hear
    Nature's music wild and clear, —
    Songs of midday and of dark
    Such as many never mark,
    Lyrics of creation sung
    Ever since the world was young.

    And thereafter thou shalt know
    Neither weariness nor woe.

    Thou shalt see the dawn unfold
    Artistries of rose and gold,
    And the sunbeams on the sea
    Dancing with the wind for glee.
    The red lilies of the moors
    Shall be torches on the floors,

    Where the field-lark lifts his cry
    To rejoice the passer-by,
    In a wide world rimmed with blue
    Lovely as when time was new.

    And thereafter thou shalt fare
    Light of foot and free from care.

    I will teach thee how to find
    Lost enchantments of the mind
    All about thee, never guessed
    By indifferent unrest.
    Thy distracted thought shall learn
    Patience from the roadside fern,
    And a sweet philosophy
    From the flowering locust tree,—
    While thy heart shall not disdain
    The consolation of the rain.

    Not an acre but shall give
    Of its strength to help thee live.

    With the many-wintered sun
    Shall thy hardy course be run.
    And the bright new moon shall be
    A lamp to thy felicity.
    When green-mantled spring shall come
    Past thy door with flute and drum,
    And when over wood and swamp
    Autumn trails her scarlet pomp,

    No misgiving shalt thou know,
    Passing glad to rise and go.

    So thy days shall be unrolled
    Like a wondrous cloth of gold.

    When gray twilight with her star
    Makes a heaven that is not far,
    Touched with shadows and with dreams,
    Thou shalt hear the woodland streams
    Singing through the starry night
    Holy anthems of delight.
    So the ecstasy of earth
    Shall refresh thee as at birth,
    And thou shalt arise each morn
    Radiant with a soul reborn.

    And this wisdom of a day
    None shall ever take away.

    What the secret, what the clew
    The wayfarer must pursue?
    Only one thing he must have
    Who would share these transports brave.
    Love within his heart must dwell
    Like a bubbling roadside well,
    For a spring to quicken thought,
    Else my counsel comes to naught.
    For without that quickening trust
    We are less than roadside dust.

    This, O traveller, is my creed,—
    All the wisdom of the weed!

    Then the traveller set his pack
    Once more on his dusty back,
    And trudged on for many a mile
    Fronting fortune with a smile.

  25. The Wooing

    by Laurence Dunbar

    A youth went faring up and down,
    Alack and well-a-day.
    He fared him to the market town,
    Alack and well-a-day.
    And there he met a maiden fair,
    With hazel eyes and auburn hair;
    His heart went from him then and there,
    Alack and well-a-day.

    She posies sold right merrily,
    Alack and well-a-day;
    But not a flower was fair as she,
    Alack and well-a-day.
    He bought a rose and sighed a sigh,
    "Ah, dearest maiden, would that I
    Might dare the seller too to buy!"
    Alack and well-a-day.

    She tossed her head, the coy coquette,
    Alack and well-a-day.
    "I'm not, sir, in the market yet,"
    Alack and well-a-day.
    "Your love must cool upon a shelf;
    Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf,
    I'm yet too young to sell myself,"
    Alack and well-a-day.

    The youth was filled with sorrow sore,
    Alack and well-a-day;
    And looked he at the maid once more,
    Alack and well-a-day.
    Then loud he cried, "Fair maiden, if
    Too young to sell, now as I live,
    You're not too young yourself to give,"
    Alack and well-a-day.

    The little maid cast down her eyes,
    Alack and well-a-day,
    And many a flush began to rise,
    Alack and well-a-day.
    "Why, since you are so bold," she said,
    "I doubt not you are highly bred,
    So take me!" and the twain were wed,
    Alack and well-a-day.

  26. Peace

    by Bliss Carman

    The sleeping tarn is dark
    Below the wooded hill.
    Save for its homing sounds,
    The twilit world grows still.

    And I am left to muse
    In grave-eyed mystery,
    And watch the stars come out
    As sandalled dusk goes by.

    And now the light is gone,
    The drowsy murmurs cease,
    And through the still unknown
    I wonder whence comes peace.

    Then softly falls the word
    Of one beyond a name,
    "Peace only comes to him
    Who guards his life from shame, —

    "Who gives his heart to love,
    And holding truth for guide,
    Girds him with fearless strength,
    That freedom may abide."

  27. Eight O'Clock

    by Sara Teasdale

    Supper comes at five o'clock,
    At six, the evening star,
    My lover comes at eight o'clock—
    But eight o'clock is far.

    How could I bear my pain all day
    Unless I watched to see
    The clock-hands laboring to bring
    Eight o'clock to me.

  28. The Treasure

    by Sara Teasdale

    When they see my songs
    They will sigh and say,
    "Poor soul, wistful soul,
    Lonely night and day."

    They will never know
    All your love for me
    Surer than the spring,
    Stronger than the sea;

    Hidden out of sight
    Like a miser's gold
    In forsaken fields
    Where the wind is cold.

  29. "Did You Never Know?"

    by Sara Teasdale

    Did you never know, long ago, how much you loved me—
    That your love would never lessen and never go?
    You were young then, proud and fresh-hearted,
    You were too young to know.

    Fate is a wind, and red leaves fly before it
    Far apart, far away in the gusty time of year—
    Seldom we meet now, but when I hear you speaking,
    I know your secret, my dear, my dear.

  30. Mystery

    by C. S. Calverley

    I know not if in others’ eyes
    She seem’d almost divine;
    But far beyond a doubt it lies
    That she did not in mine.

    Each common stone on which she trod
    I did not deem a pearl:
    Nay it is not a little odd
    How I abhorr’d that girl.

    We met at balls and picnics oft,
    Or on a drawingroom stair;
    My aunt invariably cough’d
    To warn me she was there:

    At croquet I was bid remark
    How queenly was her pose,
    As with stern glee she drew the dark
    Blue ball beneath her toes,

    And made the Red fly many a foot:
    Then calmly she would stoop,
    Smiling an angel smile, to put
    A partner through his hoop.

    At archery I was made observe
    That others aim’d more near.
    But none so tenderly could curve
    The elbow round the ear:

    Or if we rode, perhaps she did
    Pull sharply at the curb;
    But then the way in which she slid
    From horseback was superb!

    She’d throw off odes, again, whose flow
    And fire were more than Sapphic;
    Her voice was sweet, and very low;
    Her singing quite seraphic:

    She was a seraph, lacking wings.
    That much I freely own.
    But, it is one of those queer things
    Whose cause is all unknown—

    (Such are the wasp, the household fly,
    The shapes that crawl and curl
    By men called centipedes)—that I
    Simply abhorred that girl.

    * * *

    No doubt some mystery underlies
    All things which are and which are not:
    And ’tis the function of the Wise
    Not to expound to us what is what,

    But let his consciousness play round
    The matter, and at ease evolve
    The problem, shallow or profound,
    Which our poor wits have fail’d to solve,

    Then tell us blandly we are fools;
    Whereof we were aware before:
    That truth they taught us at the schools,
    And p’raps (who knows?) a little more.

    —But why did we two disagree?
    Our tastes, it may be, did not dovetail:
    All I know is, we ne’er shall be
    Hero and heroine of a love-tale.

  31. Love

    by C. S. Calverley

    Canst thou love me, lady?
    I’ve not learn’d to woo:
    Thou art on the shady
    Side of sixty too.
    Still I love thee dearly!
    Thou hast lands and pelf:
    But I love thee merely
    Merely for thyself.

    Wilt thou love me, fairest?
    Though thou art not fair;
    And I think thou wearest
    Someone-else’s hair.
    Thou could’st love, though, dearly:
    And, as I am told,
    Thou art very nearly
    Worth thy weight, in gold.

    Dost thou love me, sweet one?
    Tell me that thou dost!
    Women fairly beat one,
    But I think thou must.
    Thou art loved so dearly:
    I am plain, but then
    Thou (to speak sincerely)
    Art as plain again.

    Love me, bashful fairy!
    I’ve an empty purse:
    And I’ve “moods,” which vary;
    Mostly for the worse.
    Still, I love thee dearly:
    Though I make (I feel)
    Love a little queerly,
    I’m as true as steel.

    Love me, swear to love me
    (As, you know, they do)
    By yon heaven above me
    And its changeless blue.
    Love me, lady, dearly,
    If you’ll be so good;
    Though I don’t see clearly
    On what ground you should.

    Love me—ah or love me
    Not, but be my bride!
    Do not simply shove me
    (So to speak) aside!
    P’raps it would be dearly
    Purchased at the price;
    But a hundred yearly
    Would be very nice.

  32. The Hidden Name

    by Hannah Flagg Gould

    She loved; but her bosom had buried the dart;
    And there, while she strove to conceal it,
    Its point had engraven his NAME on her heart
    Too deep for her lips to reveal it.

    She wept; but the world knew it not, for her eye,
    Of joy's playful sunlight would borrow
    A few dazzling beams, when another was by,
    To drink up the dew-drops of sorrow.

    She grieved; and in secret the sigh would release,
    That long in her breast had been stifled.
    She pined; and in solitude mourned for the peace,
    Whereof her young heart had been rifled.

    She languished and faded, and silently fell;
    And now in the tomb she is lying.
    While none that looked on could the malady tell,
    The flower in its beauty was dying!

    But told was her secret on many a leaf,
    While cold was the hand that conveyed it
    In lines that were broken and blotted with grief,
    Where Death, a pale spoiler! betrayed it.

    And yet, not a trace of the NAME can be found;
    With darkness and silence hung o'er it,
    The sacred engraving is hid in the ground,
    Locked up in the bosom that bore it!

  33. Power of Love

    by James McIntyre

    Love it is the precious loom,
    Whose shuttle weaves each tangled thread,
    And works flowers of exquisite bloom,
    Shedding their perfume where we tread.

  34. Her Lover's Step

    by James McIntyre

    Step, step, step, 'tis her lover's walk,
    She knows his step as well's his talk;
    He is the favorite of her choice,
    So his step's familiar as his voice.

    Step, step, step, she now is wed,
    And it is now her liusband's tread;
    His homeward step it cheers her life,
    For she is a kind faithful wife.

    But he the husband and yet lover,
    His steps at last do cease forever;
    And she doth soon hear the tread
    Of men who do bear out the dead.

    Her heart it now doth throb with pain,
    Though she knows sorrow is but vain;
    For him the never can recall,
    And no more hear his footsteps fall.

    But still she hopes he yet will come
    And visit her in their old home;
    But time approaches, she must die,
    Her husband's footstepsshe hears nigh.

    Step, step, step, we ne'er shall part,
    I hear the eoho in my heart;
    Now happiness dispels the gloom,
    Radiant with joy my face doth bloom.

    Pain and suffering all are past,
    She joyous cried he's come at last;
    And soon she breathes out her last breath,
    He guides her through the vale of death.

  35. Moonlight

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    The fifers of these amethystine fields,
    Whose far fine sound the night makes musical,
    Now while thou wak'st and longing would'st recall
    Joys that no rapture of remembrance yields,
    Voice to thy soul, lone-sitting deep within
    The still recesses of thine ecstasy,
    My love and my desire, that fain would fly
    With this far-silvering moon and fold thee in.

    But not for us the touch, the clasp, the kiss,
    And for our restlessness no rest. In vain
    These aching lips, these hungering hearts that strain
    Toward the denied fruition of our bliss,
    Had love not learned of longing to devise
    Out of desire and dream our paradise,

  36. Love's Translator

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    When the white moon divides the mist,
    My longing eyes believe
    'T is the white arm my lips have kissed
    Flashing from thy sleeve.

    And when the tall white lily sways
    Upon her queenly stalk,
    Thy white form fills my dreaming gaze
    Down the garden walk.

    When, rich with rose, a wandering air
    Breathes up the leafy place,
    It seems to me thy perfumed hair
    Blown across my face.

    And when the thrush's golden note
    Across the gloom is heard,
    I think 't is thy impassioned throat
    Uttering one sweet word.

    And when the scarlet poppy-bud
    Breaks, breathing of the south,
    A sudden warmth awakes my blood
    Thinking of thy mouth.

    And when that dove's wing dips in flight
    Above the dreaming land,
    I see some dear, remembered, white
    Gesture of thy hand.

    Wonder and love upon me wait
    In service fair, when I
    Into thy sweetness thus translate
    Earth and air and sky.

  37. The Fear of Love

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Oh, take me into the still places of your heart,
    And hide me under the night of your deep hair;
    For the fear of love is upon me;
    I am afraid lest God should discover the wonderfulness of our love.

    Shall I find life but to lose it?
    Shall I stretch out my hands at last to joy,
    And take but the irremediable anguish?
    For the cost of heaven is the fear of hell;
    The terrible cost of love
    Is the fear to be cast out therefrom.

    Oh, touch me! Oh, look upon me!
    Look upon my spirit with your eyes,
    And touch me with the benediction of your hands!
    Breathe upon me, breathe upon me,
    And my soul shall live.
    Kiss me with your mouth upon my mouth
    And I shall be strong.

  38. The Wisdom of Love

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    My life she takes between her hands;
    My spirit at her feet
    Is taught the lore inscrutable
    The wisdom bitter sweet.

    The world becomes a little thing;
    Art, travel, music, men,
    And all that these can ever give
    Are in her brow's white ken.

    I look into her eyes and learn
    The mystery of tears;
    The pang of doubt; the doom that haunts
    The fleeting of the years;

    And pale foreknowledge, hid from all
    But those who fear to know;
    And memory's treason, that betrays
    Joy to the nameless woe;

    Compassion, like the rain of spring;
    And truth without a flaw;
    And one great gladness, hushed and still
    With love's initiate awe.

    In her deep hair I hide my heart;
    And in that scented shade
    I sail sleep's immemorial sea,
    Expectant, unafraid;

    And take the enigmatic word
    Of dream upon my breath,
    And learn the secrecy of joy,
    The long content of death.

    Her sad mouth, scarlet, passionate,
    Shows me the world's desire,
    The mirth that is the mask of pain,
    And that immortal fire

    Drawn by the touch of kiss on kiss
    From life's eternal core,
    Frail, flickering, mordant, keen. unquenched
    When time shall be no more

    Then worship, love's last wisdom, learned,
    I bow my spirit there,
    And let my soul in silence plead
    The passion which is prayer.

  39. The Footpath

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Path by which her feet have gone,
    Still you climb the windy hill,
    Still the hillside fronts the dawn,
    Fronts the clustering village still.

    On the bare hill-summit waves
    Still the lonely poplar-tree.
    Where the blue lake-water raves,
    Still the plover pipe and flee.

    Still you climb from windy pier,
    Where the white gull drops and screams,
    Through the village grown so dear,
    Till you reach my heaven of dreams.

    Ah, the place we used to meet,
    I and she,—where sharp you turn,
    Shun the curious village street,
    Lurk thro' hollows, hide in fern!

    Then; the old house, ample-eaved,
    Night-long quiet beneath the stars,—
    How the maples, many-leaved,
    Screened us at the orchard bars!

    Path by which her feet have gone,
    Still you climb the windy hill;
    Still the hillside fronts the dawn,
    Fronts the clustering village still;

    But no longer she, my own,
    Treads you, save as dreams allow.
    And these eyes in dreams alone
    Dare to look upon you now.

  40. Presence

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Dawn like a lily lies upon the land
    Since I have known the whiteness of your hand.
    Dusk is more soft and more mysterious where
    Breathes on my eyes the perfume of your hair.
    Waves at your coming break in livelier blue;
    And solemn woods are glad because of you.

  41. At the Railway Station

    by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

    Here the night is fierce with light,
    Here the great wheels come and go,
    Here are partings, waitings, meetings,
    Mysteries of joy and woe.

    Here is endless haste and change,
    Here the ache of streaming eyes,
    Radiance of expectant faces,
    Breathless askings, brief replies.

    Here the jarred, tumultuous air
    Throbs and pauses like a bell.
    Gladdens with delight of greeting.
    Sighs and sorrows with farewell.

    Here, ah, here with hungry eyes
    I explore the passing throng.
    Restless I await your coming
    Whose least absence is so long.

    Faces, faces pass me by,
    Meaningless, and blank, and dumb,
    Till my heart grows faint and sickens
    Lest at last you should not come.

    Then—I see you. And the blood
    Surges back to heart and brain.
    Eyes meet mine,—and Heaven opens.
    You are at my side again.

  42. Pretty Flower

    by Raymond Garfield Dandridge

    Truly thou lovest pretty flowers,
    For pretty flower, thyself, thou art.
    May I, if tenderly I pluck thee,
    Make fast thy tendrils to my heart—
    Pretty Flower?

    And should Fate deem thee answer, pluck me!
    Would one of meager courage dare
    To place the hand he feels unworthy
    Upon a spotless lily, fair,
    Pretty Flower?

  43. Absence and Love

    by Paul Hamilton Hanyne

    We need the clasp of hand in hand,
    The light flashed warm from neighboring eyes:
    Or else as weary seasons pass—
    Alas! alas!
    Our tenderest love grows wan and dies.

    The fatal years like seas expand
    'Twixt souls that long have dwelt apart,
    Till, broadening o'er our being's verge,
    The ruthless surge
    Love's memory sweeps from out the heart.

    O Absence! thou unreverenced Death!
    Thy dense, unconsecrated clay
    Inurns affection past regret;
    No hint is set
    Thereon of Resurrection Day.

  44. The Sea Shell

    by Arthur Weir

    'Tis a dainty shell, 'tis a fragile shell
    At my feet that the wild waves threw,
    And I send it thee, that its lips may tell
    In thine ear that my heart is true.

    It will tell thee how by the sunlit sea
    Pass the hours we were wont to share.
    On its pearl-pink lips is a kiss for thee
    That my own loving lips placed there.

    In a lady's hand it will snugly lie,
    'Tis as thin as a red rose-leaf,
    Yet it holds the seagull's sorrowing cry,
    And the roar of the tide,-lashed reef.

    In its ivory cave, though the mighty sea
    May find room, and to spare, to move,
    Yet this same sea shell that I send to thee
    Is too small to contain my love.

  45. To One Who Loves Red Roses

    by Arthur Weir

    When our lives were in their springtime and our souls were in the bud,
    While the watchful world was silent, heeding not such childish love,
    I poured forth for thee my heart thoughts in a sweet, unthinking flood,
    Like a bird that carols freely in the grove.

    And thou heardst them, half unconscious of the import that they bore,
    Till the years unlocked the chambers of thy stainless, maiden heart
    And thou badest my songs be silent. They are silent evermore,
    But their echoes from my soul will not depart.

    Yet the love songs that I lilted in those by gone childhood days,
    Surely them thou wilt not silence, let them be a memory dear
    Of the happy days of childhood when unchecked I sang thy praise,
    While with thee I looked to heaven and deemed it here.

  46. The Love-leaf

    by Ruby Archer

    In thought I wandered through the falling brightness
    Of autumn leaves; no meaning they possessed,
    Until one radiant leaf in playful lightness
    Came whispering down and nestled on my breast.

    A sense of pleasure thrilled through all my being;
    To be more sure I felt the presence fair,
    I touched it with my hand. Ah—swiftly fleeing,
    It fell in formless fragments on the air.

    Perhaps it was an omen. Love may flutter,
    A bright-hued leaf from fate's o'er-hanging tree,
    May fall to nestle at my heart, may utter
    A murmured word of tenderness to me.

    And if I seek with trembling touch to banish
    A fear that love lives only in the mind,
    Then will the glory of the love-leaf vanish,
    And leave but dust and memories behind.

  47. Coming of Love

    by Ruby Archer

    Young Dawn lay warm upon the breast of Night,
    When Aphrodite blossomed from the sea
    And brought to mortals from the spheres of light
    A wingéd thing called Love, with blinded sight,
    And freed it in the human heart, to all eternity.

  48. A Woman's Love

    by Ruby Archer

    "Let me look into your eyes
    For mine image." "Is it there?"
    "Yes." "Look deeper—scan my heart.
    Do you find it?" "Yes, more fair.
    Now look you for yours in mine,"
    And her gaze went up and through.
    But she made reply—"Ah, no!
    You I see, and only you."

  49. A Lesson

    by Ruby Archer

    Would ye build that generations
    Yet to be may call you great?
    Would ye have your lives' creations
    O'er the ages tower elate?

    Hearken then a world-old moral,—
    Abnegation, meek and pure.
    Build as doth the lowly coral,—
    Give yourselves. That shall endure.

  50. Antique Love Rhyme

    by Ruby Archer

    Beloved, I am weary!
    Ah, come to me, my dearie,
    For on thy loving breast
    I may find
    My only rest.
    Those eyes of thine
    Are glowing wine,
    My fainting spirit to restore.
    And I forget
    All care and fret
    In ecstasy of loving thee
    Each moment more.

    Not all the song of living
    Unto the world I'm giving,
    Though many hear the air
    Running light
    Forever there.
    Yet far below
    Deep minors flow,
    And throbbing chords of passion.
    Thy waiting ear
    The tones will hear,
    While o'er thy soul the echoes roll
    Fore'er and aye.

  51. Summer and You

    by Ruby Archer

    Summer is dead—and yet, my own,
    It lives in you.
    You are my flowers, and sunny hours,
    And skies all blue.

    Rose-laden breeze among the trees,
    Your whispered words.
    You are my brooks, and forest nooks,
    And singing birds.

  52. The Thought of You

    by Ruby Archer

    The thought of you comes flying, flying,
    'Round me like a bird in play,
    To allure me trying, trying,
    All the busy day.

    And the bird is singing, singing—
    What entrancing roundelay!
    With a cadence ringing, ringing,
    In my heart alway.

  53. Daybreak of Love

    by Ruby Archer

    Daybreak of love! and o'er the quiet vale
    Of heart, a wonder and a purity
    Are lighting, lighting all, by slow degree.
    The moon of loneliness, austere and pale,
    In pensive convent robe and sighing vail,
    Is gone. And hark—a bird-note tremblingly
    Betrays a thrill of waking. And the free,
    Wild stream, that made a piteous wail
    Through all the waiting night, subdues that cry
    To low, glad murmur. Every shade forlorn
    Is fled. Heart, soul, life—all—how bright
    In smile of heaven, the blessing of the sky,
    A radiant beauty, fresh as primal morn,
    When God the Father spoke, and there was light.

  54. Then and Now

    by Ruby Archer

    I smile, rememb'ring how it was before
    I knew you loved me. Was I lonely, sad?
    It seemeth so, yet oft I fancied glad
    The fleeting years. In quest of hidden lore
    My heart was eager, thirsting evermore
    For something never found,—when, virtue-clad,
    A knight more loyal than Sir Galahad
    For word of favor was repining sore.
    But now I know all—all—my own true knight,
    And I will pay the long arrears of love.
    Where are you, Prince? I dazzle in the light
    You shed upon me, and I faint with hope
    Too quick and strong, nor see nor feel to move.
    Love, lead me! Blind of eyes and heart—I grope.

    If love and friendship e'er is found,
    'Tis in a father's breast;
    His fond paternal prayers abound,
    And his devotion's blest.

    – Eliza Wolcott
    The Affectionate Father

    If love and friendship e'er is found,
    'Tis in a father's breast;
    His fond paternal prayers abound,
    And his devotion's blest.

    – Eliza Wolcott
    The Affectionate Father
  55. She Was a Phantom of Delight

    by William Wordsworth

    She was a Phantom of delight
    When first she gleamed upon my sight;
    A lovely Apparition sent
    To be a moment's ornament;
    Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
    Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair;
    But all things else about her drawn
    From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
    A dancing Shape, an Image gay,
    To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

    I saw her upon nearer view,
    A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
    Her household motions light and free,
    And steps of virgin-liberty;
    A countenance in which did meet
    Sweet records, promises as sweet;
    A Creature not too bright or good
    For human nature's daily food;
    For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
    Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears and smiles.

    And now I see with eye serene
    The very pulse of the machine;
    A Being breathing thoughtful breath,
    A Traveler between life and death;
    The reason firm, the temperate will,
    Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
    A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
    To warn, to comfort, and command;
    And yet a Spirit still, and bright
    With something of angelic light.

  56. Love Song

    by Anonymous

    As when the day is done
    The clouds troop one by one
    Toward the sun,
    So turn my thoughts to thee
    For aye, unceasingly,
    Where'er thou art;
    Day of my heart!

    As grows toward the light
    The pale shoot hid from sight
    In earth's deep night,
    So upward to its goal,
    Swift stretches out my soul
    To where thou art,
    Light of my heart!

    As brooks merge in the bay,
    As April bursts to May,
    Morn swells to day,
    So am I lost in thee,
    So must thou ever be
    Of me a part,
    Heart of my heart!

  57. She Being Young

    by John Charles McNeill

    The home of love is her blue eyes,
    Wherein all joy, all beauty lies,
    More sweet than hopes of paradise,
    She being young.

    Speak of her with a miser's praise;
    She craves no golden speech; her ways
    Wind through charmed nights and magic days,
    She being young.

    She is so far from pain and death,
    So warm her cheek, so sweet her breath
    Glad words are all the words she saith,
    She being young.

    Seeing her face, it seems not far
    To Troy's heroic field of war,
    To Troy and all great things that are,
    She being young.

  58. When She Comes

    by Joseph W. Humphries

    Like a princess spring will greet her,
    When she comes;
    And her loyal friends will meet her,
    When she comes;

    Brighter skies will bend above her,
    And the flowers—they will love her,
    Birds the secret will discover,
    When she comes;

    Time will fly on wings of pleasure,
    When she comes;
    Joy will be a golden treasure,
    When she comes;
    Life will give its gentlest graces,
    Home seem dearest place of places,
    Love shall be where her sweet face is,
    When she comes.

  59. Heart of my Heart

    by Madison Cawein

    Here where the season turns the land to gold,
    Among the fields our feet have known of old,—
    When we were children who would laugh and run,
    Glad little playmates of the wind and sun,—
    Before came toil and care and years went ill,
    And one forgot and one remembered still;
    Heart of my heart, among the old fields here,
    Give me your hands and let me draw you near,
    Heart of my heart.

    Stars are not truer than your soul is true—
    What need I more of heaven then than you?
    Flowers are not sweeter than your face is sweet—
    What need I more to make my world complete?
    O woman nature, love that still endures,
    What strength has ours that is not born of yours?
    Heart of my heart, to you, whatever come,
    To you the lead, whose love hath led me home.
    Heart of my heart.

  60. Only One

    by Ellen P. Allerton

    Only one heart to beat with mine—
    That heart to be loving, and warm, and true,
    Shedding its tenderness, rich as wine
    Pressed from grapes of the Rhenish vine,
    Yet delicate, pure, as morning dew.

    Only one arm to lean upon,
    As I thread the gorges, or mount the steeps—
    To steady me when the heights are won,
    To pillow my head when the day is done,
    And over my eyes the darkness creeps.

    Only one love, told o'er and o'er—
    That love to be quenchless—a deathless flame—
    Yet, like the ocean that laps the shore
    In a thousand forms and ten thousand more,
    To be ever changing, yet ever the same!

    Only one love—do I smile or weep,
    Do I float with the current, or bravely swim
    Against wind and tide—still let me keep,
    While the years drift by in their onward sweep,
    But this, when life and its hopes grow dim.

    One other love! To its breadth is this
    As a rift in a cloud to the boundless blue—
    As a passionate, transient throb of bliss
    To infinite billows of happiness—
    To boundless seas as a drop of dew!

  61. My Lady's Hands

    by R. H. House

    My lady hath of charms her lion’s share;
    Grace, beauty, wit and a sweet thoughtfulness,
    Which rests serenely on her gentle face,
    Sweet as the flowers are, and pure as air.

    Yet, of all forms of beauty which she wears,
    One is reserved for me alone—the best;
    Her loving hand-clasps are for me; the rest
    Not mine alone may be, the whole world shares.

    Eye speaking unto eye must fail oftimes
    To utter all the feelings love demands,
    And loving letters leave to clasping hands
    To speak the heart-throbs hid "between the lines.”

    Old age must one day touch my darling’s brow,
    Her dear face wrinkle, and her large eyes dim;
    But then her hands will touch the hands of him
    Who lives for her, with thrill as sweet as now.

    Ah, when my spirit freed from earth stains lands
    On those blest shores beyond Death’s narrow sea.
    May the dear boon be granted unto me
    To feel, close clasped in mine, my lady’s hands.

  62. Love

    by Ellen P. Allerton

    Fret not if fateful bar
    Cause Love's delay,
    Nor if some baleful star
    Cross love alway.
    Love crossed is better far
    Than Love's decay.

    Love hidden in the breast
    Is hoarded gold;
    By brooding thought caressed.
    It ne'er grows old.
    Love satisfied, at rest,
    Oft waxes cold.

    We pity those who part
    To meet no more;
    We sorrow for the smart,
    The aching sore;
    The joined, yet twain of heart,
    Need pity more.

    Two sit at table, where
    Love once said grace;
    A bond yet holds them there,
    Still face to face;
    Love, jostled out by Care,
    Has fled the place.

    There live whose wedding day
    Was wreathed in gold;
    Who saw time stretch away
    With joys untold:
    Their lives creep on to-day,
    Gray, sad, and cold.

    Love, set in daily groove,
    Drops its highest mission.
    The lives of thousands prove
    This hard condition:
    The sorest test of Love
    Is Love's fruition.

    O thou who through long years
    Hast dwelt alone,
    Whose love, enshrined in tears,
    Holds secret throne,
    This thought its comfort bears:
    'Tis still thine own.

    Ye wedded who remain,
    (But ye are few)
    Through all life's toil and pain,
    Warm, tender, true,
    Earth holds, on hill or plain,
    None blest like you.

  63. Merchantmen

    by Ruby Archer

    Come in my ships, my letters,—
    Kind the sky above,—
    On your full sails faring
    From the harbor—love.

    Ye bring me wine for cargo;—
    Bear it safe, I pray,—
    Words,—a common vintage,
    Finer with delay.

  64. Alone

    by Ruby Archer

    For me the day is done,
    Though high the ardent sun;
    I feel the twilight gray.
    For you, my Love, are gone,
    My Sunlight and my Dawn,
    My Noon and all my Day.

  65. Drink Deep

    by Ruby Archer

    Stern Life is in a lavish mood to-day.
    She holds a brimming beaker to our lips.
    Sweet wine of love—ah, put it not away!
    Drink deep, dear heart. Life will not wait for sips.

  66. Merchantmen

    by Ruby Archer

    Come in my ships, my letters,—
    Kind the sky above,—
    On your full sails faring
    From the harbor—love.

    Ye bring me wine for cargo;—
    Bear it safe, I pray,—
    Words,—a common vintage,
    Finer with delay.

  67. Love's Growth

    by John Donne

    I scarce believe my love to be so pure
    As I had thought it was,
    Because it doth endure
    Vicissitude, and season, as the grass;
    Methinks I lied all winter, when I swore
    My love was infinite, if spring make’ it more.

    But if medicine, love, which cures all sorrow
    With more, not only be no quintessence,
    But mixed of all stuffs paining soul or sense,
    And of the sun his working vigor borrow,
    Love’s not so pure, and abstract, as they use
    To say, which have no mistress but their muse,
    But as all else, being elemented too,
    Love sometimes would contemplate, sometimes do.

    And yet no greater, but more eminent,
    Love by the spring is grown;
    As, in the firmament,
    Stars by the sun are not enlarged, but shown,
    Gentle love deeds, as blossoms on a bough,
    From love’s awakened root do bud out now.

    If, as water stirred more circles be
    Produced by one, love such additions take,
    Those, like so many spheres, but one heaven make,
    For they are all concentric unto thee;
    And though each spring do add to love new heat,
    As princes do in time of action get
    New taxes, and remit them not in peace,
    No winter shall abate the spring’s increase.

  68. Air and Angels

    by John Donne

    Twice or thrice had I lov'd thee,
    Before I knew thy face or name;
    So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame
    Angels affect us oft, and worshipp'd be;
    Still when, to where thou wert, I came,
    Some lovely glorious nothing I did see.
    But since my soul, whose child love is,
    Takes limbs of flesh, and else could nothing do,
    More subtle than the parent is
    Love must not be, but take a body too;
    And therefore what thou wert, and who,
    I bid Love ask, and now
    That it assume thy body, I allow,
    And fix itself in thy lip, eye, and brow.

    Whilst thus to ballast love I thought,
    And so more steadily to have gone,
    With wares which would sink admiration,
    I saw I had love's pinnace overfraught;
    Ev'ry thy hair for love to work upon
    Is much too much, some fitter must be sought;
    For, nor in nothing, nor in things
    Extreme, and scatt'ring bright, can love inhere;
    Then, as an angel, face, and wings
    Of air, not pure as it, yet pure, doth wear,
    So thy love may be my love's sphere;
    Just such disparity
    As is 'twixt air and angels' purity,
    'Twixt women's love, and men's, will ever be.

  69. The Bait

    by John Donne

    Come live with me, and be my love,
    And we will some new pleasures prove
    Of golden sands, and crystal brooks,
    With silken lines, and silver hooks.

    There will the river whispering run
    Warm'd by thy eyes, more than the sun;
    And there the 'enamour'd fish will stay,
    Begging themselves they may betray.

    When thou wilt swim in that live bath,
    Each fish, which every channel hath,
    Will amorously to thee swim,
    Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

    If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,
    By sun or moon, thou dark'nest both,
    And if myself have leave to see,
    I need not their light having thee.

    Let others freeze with angling reeds,
    And cut their legs with shells and weeds,
    Or treacherously poor fish beset,
    With strangling snare, or windowy net.

    Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest
    The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;
    Or curious traitors, sleeve-silk flies,
    Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

    For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,
    For thou thyself art thine own bait:
    That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,
    Alas, is wiser far than I.

  70. I Love You

    by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

    I love your lips when they’re wet with wine
    And red with a wild desire;
    I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
    Lit with a passionate fire.
    I love your arms when the warm white flesh
    Touches mine in a fond embrace;
    I love your hair when the strands enmesh
    Your kisses against my face.

    Not for me the cold, calm kiss
    Of a virgin’s bloodless love;
    Not for me the saint’s white bliss,
    Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
    But give me the love that so freely gives
    And laughs at the whole world’s blame,
    With your body so young and warm in my arms,
    It sets my poor heart aflame.

    So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
    Still fragrant with ruby wine,
    And say with a fervor born of the South
    That your body and soul are mine.
    Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
    While the pale stars shine above,
    And we’ll live our whole young lives away
    In the joys of a living love.

  71. My Love

    James Russell Lowell

    Not as all other women are
    Is she that to my soul is dear;
    Her glorious fancies come from far,
    Beneath the silver evening-star;
    And yet her heart is ever near.

    Great feelings hath she of her own,
    Which lesser souls may never know;
    God giveth them to her alone,
    And sweet they are as any tone
    Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.

    Yet in herself she dwelleth not,
    Although no home were half so fair;
    No simplest duty is forgot;
    Life hath no dim and lowly spot
    That doth not in her sunshine share.

    She doeth little kindnesses,
    Which most leave undone, or despise;
    For naught that sets one heart at ease,
    And giveth happiness or peace,
    Is low-esteemèd in her eyes.

    She hath no scorn of common things;
    And, though she seem of other birth,
    Round us her heart entwines and clings,
    And patiently she folds her wings
    To tread the humble paths of earth.

    Blessing she is: God made her so;
    And deeds of week-day holiness
    Fall from her noiseless as the snow;
    Nor hath she ever chanced to know
    That aught were easier than to bless.

    She is most fair, and thereunto
    Her life doth rightly harmonize;
    Feeling or thought that was not true
    Ne'er made less beautiful the blue
    Unclouded heaven of her eyes.

    She is a woman—one in whom
    The springtime of her childish years
    Hath never lost its fresh perfume,
    Though knowing well that life hath room
    For many blights and many tears.

    I love her with a love as still
    As a broad river's peaceful might,
    Which, by high tower and lowly mill,
    Seems following its own wayward will,
    And yet doth ever flow aright.

    And, on its full, deep breast serene,
    Like quiet isles my duties lie;
    It flows around them and between,
    And makes them fresh and fair and green,
    Sweet homes wherein to live and die.

  72. In Italy

    by Bayard Taylor

    Dear Lillian, all I wished is won!
    I sit beneath Italia's sun,
    Where olive-orchards gleam and quiver
    Along the banks of Arno's river.

    Through laurel leaves, the dim green light
    Falls on my forehead as I write,
    And the sweet chimes of vesper, ringing,
    Blend with the contadina's singing.

    Rich is the soil with Fancy's gold;
    The stirring memories of old
    Rise thronging in my haunted vision,
    And wake my spirit's young ambition.

    But as the radiant sunsets close
    Above Val d'Arno's bowers of rose,
    My soul forgets the olden glory,
    And deems our love a dearer story.

    Thy words, in Memory's ear, outchime
    The music of the Tuscan rhyme;
    Thou standcst here—the gentlehearted—
    Amid the shades of bards departed.

    I see before thee fade away
    Their garlands of immortal bay,
    And turn from Petrarch's passion glances
    To my own dearer heart-romances.

    Sad is the opal glow that fires
    The midnight of the cypress spires,
    And cold the scented wind that closes
    The heart of bright Etruscan roses.

    A single thought of thee effaced
    The fair Italian dream I chased;
    For the true clime of song and sun
    Lies in the heart which mine hath won!

Related Poems

Follow Us On: