Poems About Love

Three Measures by Amos Russel Wells
The Lover's Thanksgiving by Anonymous
Some Day a Love Song by Anonymous
Herin is Love by E. N. S.
What Wondrous Love Is This by American Folk Hymn
Sonnet 14 - If Thou Must Love Me, Let it be for Nought by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Cupid's Warning by Hannah Flagg Gould
Where Love Has Been by Amos Russel Wells
Love's Trial Balance by Anonymous
A Song of the Silent Souls by Anonymous
The Letter by Emily Dickinson
I had no time to hate, because by Emily Dickinson
I meant to find her when I came by Emily Dickinson
If you were coming in the fall by Emily Dickinson
Proof by Emily Dickinson
The moon is distant from the sea by Emily Dickinson
Water is taught by thirst; by Emily Dickinson
A Memory by William Stanley Braithwaite
"The Starry Midnight Whispers" by Bliss Carman
XIX. The The Lady's Sonnet. Twilight. by Christopher Pearse Cranch
XX. The The Lady's Sonnet. Midnight. by Christopher Pearse Cranch
If. by Laurence Dunbar
For Katrina's Sun Dial by Henry Van Dyke
Love by George Herbert
My true love hath my heart by Sir Philip Sidney
Light by Francis Bourdillon
Love by Rupert Brooke
The Way That Lovers Use by Rupert Brooke
Bond and Free by Robert Frost
A Sister's Love by Kate Slaughter McKinney
Red Carnations by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Upon the Sand by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Common Lot by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
What Shall We Do? by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
But One by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
An Answer by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Trio by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Creation by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Time and Love by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
The Speech of Silence by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Love's Coming by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
She Came and Went by James Russell Lowell
Desolation by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
New and Old by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Love's Language by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
My Heritage by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Abou Ben Adhem by Leigh Hunt
Loving Words by Anonymous
Little Things by Anonymous
Loving and Forgiving by Charles Swain
A Woman's Love by Ruby Archer
The Shell and the Heart by Ruby Archer
Love Is All by Ruby Archer
My Empire by Ruby Archer
Is Loving Like This? by Ruby Archer
Man and Dog and Horse and Tree by Annette Wynne
Hearts Were Made to Give Away by Annette Wynne
Hope is like a harebell by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Greatness Is Goodness by Evander A. Crewson
Love's Millionaire by Florence May Alt
Love's Lesson by Jean Blewett
Love's Tendril by Georgia Douglas Johnson
The Prison and the Angel by Henry Van Dyke
Firelight by J. R. Eastwood
Love's Secret by William Blake
Query by Georgia Douglas Johnson
If Love Were King by Freeman E. Miller
Reconciled by Freeman E. Miller
Love Your Enemies by Helen M. Johnson
Love and Friendship by Emily Brontë
Love by Elizabeth Ann Armstrong

Christian Love

by Eliza Wolcott

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A breath of heaven to mortals given,
A glow of holy fire,
And all who breathe it taste of heaven,
And after heaven aspire.

The air of heaven is fill'd with love,
This chords on every string,
This makes the harmony above,
And sacred is the spring.

No joy would mortals find below,
Without this One delight.
But grief, with all its train of wo,
If love was out of sight.

Still blasting storms, and winds may blow,
O'er man's frail life below,
Yet hallow'd love, thy sacred glow,
Shall breath in storms of wo.
Three Measures

by Amos Russel Wells

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Psalm 103:11-13

Of all things far I love the best
The distance from the east to west;
For by that space, and all within,
God's mercy parts me from my sin.

And best I love, of all things high,
The space between the earth and sky;
For by that height beyond all ken
God's love exceeds the love of men.

I love, of deep things undeflled,
A father's pity for his child;
For by that depth so far, so clear,
God pities all that faint and fear,

O Father, Father, endless kind,
I thank Thee for my human mind,
But chief of all my praise shall be
That mind cannot encompass Thee!
The Lover's Thanksgiving

by Anonymous

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I'm glad for every shining star,
The gleams of glittering skies,
And that their brightest sparkles are
In Jenny's eyes.

I'm glad for summer's drowsy hum,
Dear zephyrs from the south.
And that their sweetest breathings come
From Jenny's mouth.

I'm glad for beauty's towers tall,
For poetry and art.
And that the centre of it all
Is Jenny's heart.
Some Day a Love Song

by Amos Russel Wells

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Some day I'll sing, with golden words,
A love song to my wife,
Surpassing violins and birds,
A song of love and life.

The song shall spring from deepest earth,
And leap to loftiest sky.
All praise of beauty and of worth
Shall fling their banners high.

The song shall touch the tender heart
And thrill the ardent mind,
All charms of nature and of art
Deliciously combined.

But since I cannot sing you now
That worthy song of bliss,
Dear wife! I print upon your brow
This dumb, adoring kiss!
Herein is Love

by E. N. S.

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Oh wond'rous love! the Father gave
His only Son to seek and save
Poor sinners that were lost;
Our souls were His peculiar care,
All our iniquities he bare
Himself upon the cross.

And did the Saviour bleed for me,
Expire upon the accursed tree,
To expiate my guilt?
For me was wounded, bruis'd, and torn,
His sacred temples pierc'd with thorns,
His precious blood was spilt!

The sorrows of Gethsamane,
The agonies of Calvary,
For sinners were endured;
But the affliction, grief, and pain,
The blessed Saviour did sustain,
Salvation hath procured!

Oh! may the Lord for ever be
The source of my felicity,
His laws be my delight;
And may His holy spirit rest
For evermore within my breast,
And guide my steps aright!

“33When they came to the place called The Skull, there they crucified Him and the criminals, one on the right and the other on the left. 34But Jesus was saying, "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." And they cast lots, dividing up His garments among themselves.”

– Luke 23:34

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What Wondrous Love Is This

by American Folk Hymn

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What wondrous love is this, O my soul, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this, O my soul!
What wondrous love is this
That caused the Lord of bliss
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul, for my soul,
To bear the dreadful curse for my soul!

When I was sinking down, sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down, sinking down,
When I was sinking down
Beneath God’s righteous frown,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul for my soul,
Christ laid aside His crown for my soul.

To God and to the Lamb I will sing, I will sing;
To God and to the Lamb I will sing;
To God and to the Lamb,
Who is the great I AM,
While millions join the theme, I will sing, I will sing,
While millions join the theme, I will sing

And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on;
And when from death I’m free, I’ll sing on.
And when from death I’m free
I’ll sing His love for me,
And through eternity I’ll sing on, I’ll sing on,
And through eternity I’ll sing on.

“33When they came to the place called The Skull, there they crucified Him and the criminals, one on the right and the other on the left. 34But Jesus was saying, "Father, forgive them; for they do not know what they are doing." And they cast lots, dividing up His garments among themselves.”

– Luke 23:34

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Sonnet 14 - If Thou Must Love Me, Let it be for Nought

by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
'I love her for her smile—her look—her way
Of speaking gently,—for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day'—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.
Cupid's Warning

by Hannah Flagg Gould

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"TAKE heed! take heed!
They will go with speed;
For I've just new-strung my bow!
My quiver is full; and if oft I pull,
Some arrow may hit, you know,
You know, you know,
Some arrow may hit, you know."

"Oh! pull away,"
Did the maiden say,
"For who is the coward to mind
A shaft that's flung by a boy so young,
When both of his eyes are blind,
Are blind, are blind,
When both of his eyes are blind?

His bow he drew;
And the shafts they flew,
Till the maiden was heard to cry,
"Oh! take the dart from my aching heart,
Dear Cupid, or else I die!
I die, I die,
Dear Cupid, or else I die!"

He said, and smiled,
"I am but a child,
And should have no skill to find,
E'en with both my eyes, where the dart now lies;
Then you know, fair maid, I'm blind,
I'm blind, I'm blind,
You know fair maid, I'm blind!"
Where Love Has Been

by Amos Russel Wells

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With happy heart I tread the ways
Of this world of hate and sin.
And everywhere I whisper praise
That there true lovers have been.

Not only lo some dim retreat,
Where the branches that bend above,
And the mossy banks, for lovers meet,
Seem Cupld's palace of love,

But sometimes on the brick-paved walk
Of a city's seething street,
The air yet thrills with lovers talk,
And the brick with lovers' feet.

For where our thronging human rare
Most ceaselessly comes and goes,
Most sure am I that blessed place
Some touch of a lover knows.

And humdrum shops, and factories,
And the bustling market square,
And railroad stations,—spots like these,
All vulgar and hot, and bare,—

Some lovers, I have faith to hold,
Have hallowed each homely place,
And changed its pewter all to gold,
And its homeliness all to grace.

And thus I walk with listening ear,
Wherever I chance to be,
If some sweet echo I may hear,
Or some lingering love-light see.
And so God bless the lovers dear,
As they bless this world for me!
Love's Trial Balance

by Anonymous

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He who hath never been in love
Hath half his powers still to prove.
He knoweth not how keen to see
His love-enlightened eyes may be,
How gay his wit, how bright his tongue,
His soul how strong, his heart how young.

He who hath never been in love
Hath half his folly still to prove.
He knoweth not the silliness
His tongue is able to express,
What jealousy, what license bold,
What pettiness, his heart may hold.

He who hath never been in love,
Hath half his delights are still to prove.
He knoweth not the subtle charm
Of tender hand, of clasping arm,
Nor half the joys that leap and start
From woman's eyes and mouth and heart.

He who hath never been in love
Hath half his torments still to prove.
He knoweth not what frets absurd
Uncoil from careless look and word,
Nor how his peace may be undone
Before two wills are bound in one.

He who hath never been in love,—
How to the dullard can I prove
That all the folly lovers show
Is naught to that new power they know,
And all the torments that annoy
Are merest motes within their joy?
A Song of the Silent Souls

by Anonymous

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Some can talk, sagacious, tender,
Strong discourse and rare;
Others fill the room with splendor
Just by being there.

Some can drive the world to duty
By a brandished knife
Others by the silent beauty
Of a loving life

Some are praised to highest heaven
Through a brilliant hour;
Others as a quiet leaven
Wield eternal power.

Fine are speech and valiant action
Where the triumph rolls;
But—the endless satisfaction
Of the silent souls!
The Letter

by Emily Dickinson

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"Going to him! Happy letter! Tell him —
Tell him the page I didn't write;
Tell him I only said the syntax,
And left the verb and the pronoun out.
Tell him just how the fingers hurried,
Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow;
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,
So you could see what moved them so.

"Tell him it wasn't a practised writer,
You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
Tell him — No, you may quibble there,
For it would split his heart to know it,
And then you and I were silenter.

"Tell him night finished before we finished,
And the old clock kept neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended —
What could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious,
But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow, — happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"
I had no time to hate, because

by Emily Dickinson

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I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.

Nor had I time to love; but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.
I meant to find her when I came

by Emily Dickinson

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I meant to find her when I came;
Death had the same design;
But the success was his, it seems,
And the discomfit mine.

I meant to tell her how I longed
For just this single time;
But Death had told her so the first,
And she had hearkened him.

To wander now is my abode;
To rest, — to rest would be
A privilege of hurricane
To memory and me.
If you were coming in the fall

by Emily Dickinson

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If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.

If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.

If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.

If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.

But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
Proof

by Emily Dickinson

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That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.

That I shall love alway,
I offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath immortality.

This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.
The moon is distant from the sea

by Emily Dickinson

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The moon is distant from the sea,
And yet with amber hands
She leads him, docile as a boy,
Along appointed sands.

He never misses a degree;
Obedient to her eye,
He comes just so far toward the town,
Just so far goes away.

Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,
And mine the distant sea, —
Obedient to the least command
Thine eyes impose on me.
Water is taught by thirst;

by Emily Dickinson

Water is taught by thirst;
Land, by the oceans passed;
Transport, by throe;
Peace, by its battles told;
Love, by memorial mould;
Birds, by the snow.
A Memory

by William Stanley Braithwaite

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My heart to thee an answer makes, O long, slow whisper of the sea,
Whose charm of mournful music wakes A dream, a memory.

Touched hands, met lips, and soft fair speech — Soul's silence to the past replies,
When love and hope illumined each, Within a girl's blue eyes.
"The Starry Midnight Whispers"

by Bliss Carman

The starry midnight whispers,
As I muse before the fire
On the ashes of ambition
And the embers of desire,

"Life has no other logic,
And time no other creed,
Than:'I for joy will follow.
Where thou for love dost lead!"
XIX. The The Lady's Sonnet. Twilight.

by Christopher Pearse Cranch

I know not why I chose to seem so cold
At parting from you; for since you are gone
I see you still — I hear each word, each tone;
And what I hid from you I wish were told.
I, who was proud and shy, seem now too bold
To write these lines — and yet must write to own
I would unsay my words, now I'm alone.
From my dark window out upon the wold
I look. 'Twas through yon pathway to the west
I watched you going, while the sunset light
Went with you — and a shadow seemed to fall
Upon my heart. And now I cannot rest
Till I have written; for I said, 'To-night
I'll send your answer.' Now I've told you all.
XX. The The Lady's Sonnet. Midnight.

by Christopher Pearse Cranch

I waited through the night, while summer blew
The breath of roses through my darkened room.
The whispering breeze just stirred the leafy gloom
Beyond the window. On the lawn the dew
Lay glistening in the starlight. No one knew
I did not sleep, but waited here my doom
Or victory. I saw the light-house loom
Across the bay. The silence grew and grew,
And hour by hour kept pace with my suspense.
Each rustling noise, each passing footstep seemed
The coming messenger I hoped yet feared.
At last a knock — a throb — a pause intense —
Your letter came. I read as if I dreamed.
Almost too great to bear my bliss appeared!
If.

by Paul Laurence Dunbar

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If life were but a dream, my Love,
And death the waking time;
If day had not a beam, my Love,
And night had not a rhyme, —
A barren, barren world were this
Without one saving gleam;
I'd only ask that with a kiss
You'd wake me from the dream.

If dreaming were the sum of days,
And loving were the bane;
If battling for a wreath of bays
Could soothe a heart in pain, —
I'd scorn the meed of battle's might,
All other aims above
I'd choose the human's higher right,
To suffer and to love!
For Katrina's Sun Dial

by Henry Van Dyke

Time is
Too slow for those who wait,
Too swift for those who fear,
Too long for those who grieve,
Too short for those who rejoice,
But for those who love, time is
Eternity.
Love

by George Herbert

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Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lack'd anything.

"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here:"
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on Thee."
Love took my hand and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord; but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "Who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit down and eat.
My true love hath my heart

by Sir Philip Sidney

My true love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange one for the other given.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driven.
His heart in me keeps him and me in one;
My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;
He loves my heart, for once it was his own;
I cherish his, because in me it bides.
His heart his wound received from my sight;
For as from me on him his hurt did light
So still methought in me his hurt did smart:
Both equal hurt, in this change sought our bliss;
My true love hath my heart, and I have his.
The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

by Francis William Bourdillon

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The night has a thousand eyes.
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes.
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
In the Crowd

by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts

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I walk the city square with thee.
The night is loud; the pavements roar.
Their eddying mirth and misery
Encircle thee and me.

The street is full of lights and cries.
The crowd but brings thee close to me.
I only hear thy low replies;
I only see thine eyes.
The Way to Succeed

by Peter Burn

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Ready and steady and willing to do,
Taking the duty that opens to view,
Turning not back, once your hand's to the plough,
That is the way to succeed.
Rise to the need! Do and succeed!
Noble the worker if noble his deed;
Holding to purpose where evils impede,
That is the way to succeed.

Taking, whilst others are waiting the tide,
Setting disasters and failures aside,
Braving the dangers which others have shied,
That is the way to succeed.
Rise to the need! etc.

Living the maxims in youth we have read:
Up with the lark, and as early to bed;
Hitting the nail that we strike on the head—
That is the way to succeed.
Rise to the need! etc.

Acting whilst other men grumble and plot;
Making the best that we can of our lot;
Striking the iron-bar when it is hot—
That is the way to succeed.
Rise to the need! etc.

Upward and onward! unhinder'd in flight,
Donned with true armour life's battle to fight,
Sounding the battle-cry—God and the Right!
That is the way to succeed.
Rise to the need! etc.
"Nothing to Do."

by Peter Burn

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"Nothing to do," is labour enough,
To the man of heart, the man of brain;
Better for him, the world to rough,
To toil in hunger, to toil in pain,
Than idly live, with an aimless aim,
Playing out life in a gainless game.

Labour is rest to the man of soul,
The man who treasures the gift of Time;
"Nothing to do," is a sluggard's goal;
A life of ease is a life of crime;
A play with Time is a game of loss,
A staking our all on a gamester's toss.

"Nothing to do," can never be said;
While it is day, there is work to be done!
Work for the pen, and work for the spade—
Work for all workers under the sun;
The call to work is a common call,
A call to be answered by one and by all.

Answer the call with a love and a will,
Be it to heart, or be it to brain;
Be it to battle and conquer an ill,
Be it to comfort a brother in pain;
Whatever it be, to the front of the van!
There is something to do; to thy name—be a man!
Withered Leaves

by Peter Burn

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I watch the leaves as they fade and fall
And form a heap by my garden wall.

I think of my loss in days "to be,"
My garden's wealth but a leafless tree.

I loved those leaves in their day of birth:
I love them now in the lap of earth.

Withered leaves! They are beautiful yet,
Though nipt by the frost, and dash'd by the wet!

Mine eyes feast not on the world of green,
Death holds its revels where life has been.

Snow, sleet, and hail, and a sunless sky!
These, these are mine, till the by and by.

I wait the hour. My heart has rest;
Seasons are faithful to His behest.

Through leaden sky, and through leafless tree,
I see the summer that is to be.
Hope On, Hope Ever

by Peter Burn

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Sow afresh! be not dishearten'd,
Though thy works have suffered blight—
Though the glorious sky has darken'd,
When it look'd most fair and bright:
Sow afresh! be up and doing!
Let the earth receive the grain!
Thou shalt have the joy of knowing,
Life has not been spent in vain.

Start afresh, desponding brother!
Enter life's eventful field!
Haply this, thy new endeavour,
May a plenteous harvest yield:
Start afresh! all fears forsaking!
Soon the clouds will disappear;
Form with prayer each undertaking,
Then thy Father's smile will cheer.

Labour on, still praying, hoping,
Working out some honest plan,
Through the darkness onward groping,—
Such must be the life of man:
Battling ever with obstruction,
Pressing onward to the goal,
Are the means to gain distinction,
And bespeak a noble soul.
Time is Precious

by Peter Burn

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Ye careless souls, be wise,
Of Time's swift course beware;
For, like the meteor's glare,
As soon as seen, it dies.

To life fresh power give:
Spend not your lives in ease,
Each passing moment seize,
And in the future live.

Awake from lethargy!
Behold, time swiftly flies,
Like lightning o'er the skies,
Into eternity.
On Hearing A Bird Singing In A Cage

by Peter Burn

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Poor little thing, how can'st thou sing,
Confin'd within the cage,
Whilst other birds on bush and tree,
In happy sport engage?
Is it because thy home looks bright,
That thou cans't sing with heart so light?
Is it because thy master's kind,
That thou dost such contentment find?
Poor little thing, I pity thee—
'Tis poor redress for Liberty?

Perhaps, poor bird, thou'st never heard
The music of the leaves,
Nor felt the zephyr's soothing breath,
On balmy summer eves;
This may have been a liberal home,
And thus have checked the wish to roam;
With food and water always nigh,
Content to live, content to die;
Yet still, poor bird, I pity thee,
Thou hast not tasted Liberty.

Yet I confess in great distress,
Man oft resembles thee—
He rests within earth's gaudy cage,
Whilst other souls are free;
The present world is all to him,
Beyond his prison all is dim,
Bound—strongly bound by nature's chains,
His spirit never freedom gains;—
Oh, how delighted he would be,
Could he but taste Christ's Liberty.
My All And In All Is Christ

by Peter Burn

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What the sun is to the flower,
What the flower to the bee,
The all-mighty loving Saviour,
Is all this, and more, to me.

What the dew is to the ivy,
What the ivy to the tree,
The all-mighty, loving Saviour,
Is all this, and more, to me.

What the showers are to rivers,
What the rivers to the sea,
The all-mighty, loving Saviour,
Is all this, and more, to me.
The Wisdom of Reserve

by Peter Burn

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If, my youthful brother.
Thou art low and poor,
Tell't not to another,
He may pass thy door:
If thou would'st have prosperity,
Conceal from men thy poverty.

Should'st thou, youthful brother,
Find misfortunes rife
Tell't not to another,
Bear alone the strife:
With reproof thy friend may grieve thee,
And in thy distress may leave thee.

Act thou thus, my brother:
When life's ills descend,
Trust not to another,
On thyself depend;
And thou wilt soon successful be,
Then men will praise and honour thee.
The Joy of Hope

by Peter Burn

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When lonely and dejected,
When weary and oppress'd,
I love to think of heaven,
That place of joy and rest;
I love when trials meet me,
And waves of trouble roll,
To think upon the pleasures
Which there await my soul.

The path I tread is dreary,
My lot, alas! is poor;
But heaven's promised to me
Why should I wish for more?
This life is but a vapour,
Which vanisheth away,
Earth's pleasures are as flowers,
They wither and decay.

But, oh! the joys of heaven
Are not like those of earth,
They're real and enduring,
No tongue can speak their worth;
No mortal eye is able
To picture aught so fair;
No blight, no death, no sorrow,
Are known to enter there.
Freely Receive, Freely Give,

by Peter Burn

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Repay each act of kindness,
Return each look of love,
And not to others' goodness
Ungrateful let us prove;
But like the little flower,
In thanks for what is done,
Give sweetness for the shower,
And beauty for the sun.

If we derive a pleasure
From that which we receive,
Let us the self-same measure
To others freely give;
Our joy will be the sweeter,
If we thus practise love,
The world will be the better,
And God our works approve.
Complain Not

by Peter Burn

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Softly, softly, do not murmur
At thy humble, lowly lot,
Discontent will make thee poorer—
They are rich who covet not;
What though many trials meet thee,
What though friends no longer greet thee,
What though men are ever slighting—shunning thee because thou'rt poor,
This should not distress thee, pilgrim—does not heaven contain thy store!

O my poor, afflicted brother,
Let me kindly counsel thee:
Be it still thy chief endeavour
To possess tranquillity;
Trials come to all in turn—
Man is unto trouble born—
Christ was poor, despised, forsaken, and the path of sorrow trod,
And must we expect a portion better than the Son of God?
Nature's Parables

by Peter Burn

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On the highest hills
Lies the whitest snow;
In the smallest rills
Clearest waters flow;
In the loneliest dells
Are the fairest bowers;
Sweetest perfume dwells
In the meekest flowers.

Much may you and I
Learn, dear friend, from this;
We must seek on high
For the purest bliss;
And must tread the earth
With an humble mind,
If we much of worth
Would desire to find.
Builders

by Peter Burn

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We each and all are builders,
Of station, fortune, life!
The minutes, as they meet us,
With great results are rife;
On self depends the future,
Its sorrow or its joy,
God gives the loaded present,
And bids us it employ.

We each and all are builders!
Say, shall our structure stand,
Resting on Rock-foundation
Or on the shifting sand?
Shall we be idle dreamers—
That what befalls us must?
Or active men and women,
Who to their doings trust?

We each and all are builders!
O wisely then attend
To callings, duties, promptings—
Our lives on these depend;
There lie both stone and mortar
On time's deep-border'd shelves,
And God, the Master-Builder
Helps those who help themselves.
Now

by Peter Burn

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Work to-day, wait not to-morrow!
To the golden now attend;
Future joy and future sorrow
On the present hour depend:
Disappointment waits the sluggard,
Coming night reproves our play,
Let us ever upward, onward,
Let us work while it is day.

Much of life is lost in fretting,
We the future clothe with care:
Better far, the past forgetting,
We moved on to brave and dare;
Seasons gone, are gone for ever,
View them not with fond regret;
Fill the present with endeavour,
Great results may bless us yet.

Courage! courage! fainting brother,
Fortune, honour may be won!
Faith shall aid us in our labour—
Hear her voice, "It shall be done!"
Things which tell us of obstruction,
Shall depart before our tread;
If we will them to destruction,
They shall be to us as dead.
A Heart Snare

by Peter Burn

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Why doth the heart brood o'er the past—
The past of many sorrows?
Why doth it looks of fondness cast
O'er scenes where mem'ries rise and blast
To-days, and coming morrows?

It fondly seeks for balm and joy,
But thorns grow with our flowers;
There's nought on earth without alloy,
The ways of life perplex—annoy—
The breeze unrobes our bowers.

Behind the clouds are sunny rays,
Behind our griefs are pleasures;
Pleasures which live, while life decays,
The heart to these a visit pays,
And proves them precious treasures.
"Bear and Forbear"

by Peter Burn

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"Bear and forbear," is a motto worth learning,
Hatred and malice are foes at the best;
Those who are failing its wisdom discerning,
Reap for their folly a life of unrest.

"Bear and forbear," may be hard for the present—
Men are but human, and self will intrude;
Crucify self, and the fruit shall be pleasant;
It shall be neither unlovely nor crude.

"Bear and forbear!" we have all of us failings—
He is unborn who perfection can boast;
Sad that the erring should glory in railings—
Sad that the loudest have failings the most.

"Bear and forbear," is a motto worth learning;
Be it engraven deep, deep on thine heart;
To this mark of knowledge be ever attaining;
Thou shalt be honour'd in doing thy part.
"Whatsoever A Man Soweth, That Shall He Also Reap."

by Peter Burn

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We are daily busy sowing
Living seeds, and they are growing—
Growing, whether good or ill:
Soon the time will come for reaping;
Will it be a time of weeping?
Or, shall joy our bosoms fill?

We are daily busy sowing,
And too oft no thought bestowing—
Heedless of the NOW or THEN;
Heedless of our spirits' sowings;—
O, what madness stamps our doings!
This is not the work of men!

O that quicken'd souls were ours!
And that "good seed" filled the furrows—
Fill'd the furrows of the heart;
Then a harvest fair would meet us,
And a song of praise would greet us
In the hour when we depart
"Love Is The Fulfilling Of The Law"

by Eliza Wolcott

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When cares oppress and wound the heart,
What sweet relief does love impart;
Can aught beneath the radiant sun,
Inspire such charms as love hath done.

Love! yes, 'twas love that bled for all,
That paid the ransom from the fall;
When no kind arm was stretch'd to save,
Our Savior's life in love He gave.

There is a charm in love's command,
That follows where the christian band
Unite in praises to their King,
While notes of joy tune every string.

The joys of love survive the tomb,
'Tis like an ever-green in bloom;
When outward beauty fades away,
Love lights the soul to realms of day.

Then fear not age, with silvery hair,
For mental worth shines then most fair;—
'Tis then the graces most conspire,
To set it forth in meek attire.
The Fortunate Isles

by Joaquin Miller

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You sail and you seek for the Fortunate Isles,
The old Greek Isles of the yellow bird's song?
Then steer right on through the watery miles,
Straight on, straight on, and you can't go wrong.
Nay, not to the left, nay, not to the right;
But on, straight on, and the Isles are in sight,
The Fortunate Isles, where the yellow birds sing
And life lies girt with a golden ring.

These Fortunate Isles, they are not far;
They lie within reach of the lowliest door;
You can see them gleam by the twilight star;
You can hear them sing by the moon's white shore,
Nay, never look back! Those leveled gravestones,
They were landing steps; they were steps unto thrones
Of glory for souls that have sailed before
And have set white feet on the fortunate shore.

And what are the names of the Fortunate Isles?
Why, Duty and Love and a large content.
Lo! there are the isles of the watery miles
That God let down from the firmament;
Lo! Duty and Love, and a true man's trust;
Your forehead to God and your feet in the dust;
Lo! Duty and Love, and a sweet babe's smiles,
And there, O friend, are the Fortunate Isles.
The Night Has a Thousand Eyes

by Francis William Bourdillon

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The night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.
If We Understood

by Anonymous

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Could we but draw back the curtains
That surround each other's lives,
See the naked heart and spirit,
Know what spur the action gives,
Often we should find it better,
Purer than we judged we should,
We should love each other better,
If we only understood.

Could we judge all deeds by motives,
See the good and bad within,
Often we should love the sinner
All the while we loathe the sin;
Could we know the powers working
To o'erthrow integrity,
We should judge each other's errors
With more patient charity.

If we knew the cares and trials,
Knew the effort all in vain,
And the bitter disappointment,
Understood the loss and gain—
Would the grim, eternal roughness
Seem—I wonder—just the same?
Should we help where now we hinder,
Should we pity where we blame?

Ah! we judge each other harshly,
Knowing not life's hidden force;
Knowing not the fount of action
Is less turbid at its source;
Seeing not amid the evil
All the golden grains of good;
Oh! we'd love each other better,
If we only understood.
True Love

by Phoebe Cary

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I think true love is never blind, But rather brings an added light, An inner vision quick to find The beauties hid from common sight.

No soul can ever clearly see Another's highest, noblest part; Save through the sweet philosophy And loving wisdom of the heart.

Your unanointed eyes shall fall On him who fills my world with light; You do not see my friend at all; You see what hides him from your sight.

I see the feet that fain would climb; You but the steps that turn astray; I see the soul, unharmed, sublime; You, but the garment and the clay.

You see a mortal, weak, misled, Dwarfed ever by the earthly clod; I see how manhood, perfected, May reach the stature of a god.

Blinded I stood, as now you stand, Till on mine eyes, with touches sweet, Love, the deliverer, laid his hand, And lo! I worship at his feet!
Attraction

But I will cast my fate with love, and trust
Her honeyed heart that guides the pollened bee

- John Charles McNeill
Attraction

“

by John Charles McNeill

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He who wills life wills its condition sweet,
Having made love its mother, joy its quest,
That its perpetual sequence might not rest
On reason's dictum, cold and too discreet;

For reason moves with cautious, careful feet,
Debating whether life or death were best,
And why pale pain, not ruddy mirth, is guest
In many a heart which life hath set to beat.

But I will cast my fate with love, and trust
Her honeyed heart that guides the pollened bee
And sets the happy wing-seeds fluttering free;

And I will bless the law which saith, Thou must!
And, wet with sea or shod with weary dust,
Will follow back and back and back to thee!
Trifles

by John Charles McNeill

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What shall I bring you, sweet?
A posy prankt with every April hue:
The cloud-white daisy, violet sky-blue,
Shot with the primrose sunshine through and through?

Or shall I bring you, sweet,
Some ancient rhyme of lovers sore beset,
Whose joy is dead, whose sadness lingers yet,
That you may read, and sigh, and soon forget?

What shall I bring you, sweet?
Was ever trifle yet so held amiss
As not to fill love's waiting heart with bliss,
And merit dalliance at a long, long kiss?
The Wife

by John Charles McNeill

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They locked him in a prison cell,
Murky and mean.
She kissed him there a wife's farewell
The bars between.
And when she turned to go, the crowd,
Thinking to see her shamed and bowed,
Saw her pass out as calm and proud
As any queen.

She passed a kinsman on the street,
To whose sad eyes
She made reply with smile as sweet
As April skies.
To one who loved her once and knew
The sorrow of her life, she threw
A gay word, ere his tale was due
Of sympathies.

She met a playmate, whose red rose
Had never a thorn,
Whom fortune guided when she chose
Her marriage morn,
And, smiling, looked her in the eye;
But, seeing the tears of sympathy,
Her smile died, and she passed on by
In quiet scorn.

They could not know how, when by night
The city slept,
A sleepless woman, still and white,
The watches kept;
How her wife-loyal heart had borne
The keen pain of a flowerless thorn,
How hot the tears that smiles and scorn
Had held unwept.
Fraternity

by William Henry Dawson

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Fraternity is that feeling toward mankind—
Without regard to rank, or wealth, or place—
Which makes a brother easy quite to find,
And sees God's image in that brother's face.

Sometimes the image is so badly scarred;
Almost beyond the recognition mark;
Its life by sinfulness so badly marred
That all the good combined is but a spark,

Yet the sweet spirit of fraternity,
Acknowledging the fatherhood of God,
Fails not His likeness in that soul to see,
And lifts it from beneath the chastening rod.

The man who thinks himself without a friend;
Who bitterest dregs from sorrow's cup has drained;
Who'd gladly welcome death if 'twould but end
The hell on earth which sinfulness has gained—

To him fraternity extends its hand
And says "my fellow trav'ler, look above;
Let me assist you on your feet to stand.
You are God's child, and God is love."
The Three Laws

by Anonymous

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Love is the golden law,
Sunnily dear;
Justice, the silver law,
Cold, calm, and clear;
Anger, the iron law,
Harshly severe

Anger's an iron lance
Mighty to slay;
Justice, a silver scale,
Faultless alway;
Love is a golden ring,
Joining for aye!
Mail of Grace

by Ruby Archer

Take notice how the farmer
Rounds off a stack of hay.
The storm no opposition finds,
The wind no sharp delay.

A tender heart in mail of grace
Invulnerably armed;
The tempest by, the patient hay
Inscrutable, unharmed.
Kind Hearts

by Anonymous

Kind hearts are the gardens,
Kind thoughts are the roots,
Kind words are the blossoms,
Kind deeds are the fruits;
Love is the sweet sunshine
That warms into life,
For only in darkness
Grow hatred and strife.
Friendship

by Henry David Thoreau

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I think awhile of Love, and while I think,
Love is to me a world,
Sole meat and sweetest drink,
And close connecting link
Tween heaven and earth.

I only know it is, not how or why,
My greatest happiness;
However hard I try,
Not if I were to die,
Can I explain.

I fain would ask my friend how it can be,
But when the time arrives,
Then Love is more lovely
Than anything to me,
And so I'm dumb.

For if the truth were known, Love cannot speak,
But only thinks and does;
Though surely out 'twill leak
Without the help of Greek,
Or any tongue.

A man may love the truth and practise it,
Beauty he may admire,
And goodness not omit,
As much as may befit
To reverence.

But only when these three together meet,
As they always incline,
And make one soul the seat,
And favorite retreat,
Of loveliness;

When under kindred shape, like loves and hates
And a kindred nature,
Proclaim us to be mates,
Exposed to equal fates
Eternally;

And each may other help, and service do,
Drawing Love's bands more tight,
Service he ne'er shall rue
While one and one make two,
And two are one;

In such case only doth man fully prove
Fully as man can do,
What power there is in Love
His inmost soul to move
Resistlessly.

* * * * *

Two sturdy oaks I mean, which side by side,
Withstand the winter's storm,
And spite of wind and tide,
Grow up the meadow's pride,
For both are strong

Above they barely touch, but undermined
Down to their deepest source,
Admiring you shall find
Their roots are intertwined
Insep'rably.
The Rain Outside

by Margaret E. Sangster

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You close beside me, and outside, the rain,
Which, stealing through the darkness of the night,
Seems tapping out with fingers softly light,
A world-old song upon my window pane—
A song of happiness with a refrain
That throbs in suffering. You hold me tight,
Your eyes, that search my own, are warmly bright,
Your lips touch mine again, and yet again!

Ah, what though years must pass, though you and I
May live our lives, quite silently, apart?
Whenever rain comes, when the day is through,
And, tapping on my casement, seems to sigh,
A dream will blossom, fragrant, in my heart,
A dream of youth eternal, and of—you.
Love

by Rupert Brooke

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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate,
Where that comes in that shall not go again;
Love sells the proud heart's citadel to Fate.
They have known shame, who love unloved. Even then,
When two mouths, thirsty each for each, find slaking,
And agony's forgot, and hushed the crying
Of credulous hearts, in heaven—such are but taking
Their own poor dreams within their arms, and lying
Each in his lonely night, each with a ghost.
Some share that night. But they know, love grows colder,
Grows false and dull, that was sweet lies at most.
Astonishment is no more in hand or shoulder,
But darkens, and dies out from kiss to kiss.
All this is love; and all love is but this.
The Way That Lovers Use

by Rupert Brooke

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The way that lovers use is this;
They bow, catch hands, with never a word,
And their lips meet, and they do kiss,
—So I have heard.

They queerly find some healing so,
And strange attainment in the touch;
There is a secret lovers know,
—I have read as much.

And theirs no longer joy nor smart,
Changing or ending, night or day;
But mouth to mouth, and heart on heart,
—So lovers say.
Bond and Free

by Robert Frost

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Love has earth to which she clings
With hills and circling arms about—
Wall within wall to shut fear out.
But Thought has need of no such things,
For Thought has a pair of dauntless wings.

On snow and sand and turf, I see
Where Love has left a printed trace
With straining in the world’s embrace.
And such is Love and glad to be.
But Thought has shaken his ankles free.

Thought cleaves the interstellar gloom
And sits in Sirius’ disc all night,
Till day makes him retrace his flight,
With smell of burning on every plume,
Back past the sun to an earthly room.

His gains in heaven are what they are.
Yet some say Love by being thrall
And simply staying possesses all
In several beauty that Thought fares far
To find fused in another star.
A Sister's Love

by Kate Slaughter McKinney

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She knelt beside her brother’s grave,
The day was near its close;
And where the cool, tall grasses wave,
She lay a fresh-cut rose.
Then, from a silver waiter near,
She drew a wreath of white,
Besprinkled with the twilight’s tear,
O’ershaded with the night,
And placed them on the green-kept mound.
I watched her kneeling there,
Her face bent on the sacred ground,
In attitude of prayer;
And while a bird sang soft his hymn,
Down-looking from above,
We saw unveiled a picture dim—
A statue true of love.
Red Carnations

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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One time in Arcadie's fair bowers
There met a bright immortal band,
To choose their emblems from the flowers
That made an Eden of that land.

Sweet Constancy, with eyes of hope,
Strayed down the garden path alone
And gathered sprays of heliotrope,
To place in clusters at her zone.

True Friendship plucked the ivy green,
Forever fresh, forever fair.
Inconstancy with flippant mien
The fading primrose chose to wear.

One moment Love the rose paused by;
But Beauty picked it for her hair.
Love paced the garden with a sigh
He found no fitting emblem there.

Then suddenly he saw a flame,
A conflagration turned to bloom;
It even put the rose to shame,
Both in its beauty and perfume.

He watched it, and it did not fade;
He plucked it, and it brighter grew.
In cold or heat, all undismayed,
It kept its fragrance and its hue.

"Here deathless love and passion sleep,"
He cried, "embodied in this flower.
This is the emblem I will keep."
Love wore carnations from that hour.
Upon the Sand

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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All love that has not friendship for its base,
Is like a mansion built upon the sand.
Though brave its walls as any in the land,
And its tall turrets lift their heads in grace;
Though skilful and accomplished artists trace
Most beautiful designs on every hand,
And gleaming statues in dim niches stand,
And fountains play in some flow'r-hidden place:

Yet, when from the frowning east a sudden gust
Of adverse fate is blown, or sad rains fall
Day in, day out, against its yielding wall,
Lo! the fair structure crumbles to the dust.
Love, to endure life's sorrow and earth's woe,
Needs friendship's solid masonwork below.
The Common Lot

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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It is a common fate—a woman's lot—
To waste on one the riches of her soul,
Who takes the wealth she gives him, but cannot
Repay the interest, and much less the whole.

As I look up into your eyes, and wait
For some response to my fond gaze and touch,
It seems to me there is no sadder fate
Than to be doomed to loving overmuch.

Are you not kind? Ah, yes, so very kind—
So thoughtful of my comfort, and so true.
Yes, yes, dear heart; but I, not being blind,
Know that I am not loved, as I love you.

One tenderer word, a little longer kiss,
Will fill my soul with music and with song;
And if you seem abstracted, or I miss
The heart-tone from your voice, my world goes wrong.

And oftentimes you think me childish—weak—
When at some thoughtless word the tears will start;
You cannot understand how aught you speak
Has power to stir the depths of my poor heart.

I cannot help it, dear,—I wish I could,
Or feign indifference where I now adore;
For if I seemed to love you less you would,
Manlike, I have no doubt, love me the more.

'Tis a sad gift, that much applauded thing,
A constant heart; for fact doth daily prove
That constancy finds oft a cruel sting,
While fickle natures win the deeper love.
What Shall We Do?

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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Here now, forevermore, our lives must part.
My path leads there, and yours another way.
What shall we do with this fond love, dear heart?
It grows a heavier burden day by day.

Hide it? In all earth's caverns, void and vast,
There is not room enough to hide it, dear;
Not even the mighty storehouse of the past
Could cover it, from our own eyes, I fear.

Drown it? Why, were the contents of each ocean
Merged into one great sea, too shallow then
Would be its waters, to sink this emotion
So deep it could not rise to life again.

Burn it? In all the furnace flames below,
It would not in a thousand years expire.
Nay! it would thrive, exult, expand, and grow,
For from its very birth it fed on fire.

Starve it? Yes, yes, that is the only way.
Give it no food, of glance, or word, or sigh,
No memories, even, of any bygone day;
No crumbs of vain regrets—so let it die.
But One

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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The year has but one June, dear friend,
The year has but one June;
And when that perfect month doth end,
The robin's song, though loud, though long,
Seems never quite in tune.

The rose, though still its blushing face
By bee and bird is seen,
May yet have lost that subtle grace—
That nameless spell the winds know well—
Which makes its gardens queen.

Life's perfect June, love's red, red rose,
Have burned and bloomed for me.
Though still youth's summer sunlight glows;
Though thou art kind, dear friend, I find
I have no heart for thee.
An Answer

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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If all the year was summer time,
And all the aim of life
Was just to lilt on like a rhyme—
Then I would be your wife.

If all the days were August days,
And crowned with golden weather,
How happy then through green-clad ways
We two could stray together!

If all the nights were moonlit nights,
And we had naught to do
But just to sit and plan delights,
Then I would wed with you.

If life was all a summer fete,
Its soberest pace the "glide,"
Then I would choose you for my mate,
And keep you at my side.

But winter makes full half the year,
And labor half of life,
And all the laughter and good cheer
Give place to wearing strife.

Days will grow cold, and moons wax old,
And then a heart that's true
Is better far than grace or gold—
And so, my love, adieu!
I cannot wed with you.
The Trio

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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We love but once. The great gold orb of light
From dawn to eventide doth cast his ray;
But the full splendor of his perfect might
Is reached but once throughout the livelong day.

We love but once. The waves, with ceaseless motion,
Do day and night plash on the pebbled shore;
But the strong tide of the resistless ocean
Sweeps in but one hour of the twenty-four.

We love but once. A score of times, perchance,
We may be moved in fancy's fleeting fashion—
May treasure up a word, a tone, a glance,
But only once we feel the soul's great passion.

We love but once. Love walks with death and birth
(The saddest, the unkindest of the three);
And only once while we sojourn on earth
Can that strange trio come to you or me.
Creation

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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The impulse of all love is to create.
God was so full of love, in his embrace
He clasped the empty nothingness of space,
And low! the solar system! High in state
The mighty sun sat, so supreme and great
With this same essence, one smile of its face
Brought myriad forms of life forth; race on race
From insects up to men.

Through love, not hate,
All that is grand in nature or in art
Sprang into being. He who would build sublime
And lasting works, to stand the test of time
Must inspiration draw from his full heart.
And he who loveth widely, well and much,
The secret holds of the true master touch.
Change

Time and Love

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Time flies. The swift hours hurry by
And speed us on to untried ways;
New seasons ripen, perish, die,
And yet love stays.
The old, old love—like sweet at first,
At last like bitter wine—
I know not if it blest or curst,
Thy life and mine.

Time flies. In vain our prayers, our tears
We cannot tempt him to delays;
Down to the past he bears the years,
And yet love stays.
Through changing task and varying dream
We hear the same refrain,
As one can hear a plaintive theme
Run through each strain.

Time flies. He steals our pulsing youth,
He robs us of our care-free days;
He takes away our trust and truth,
And yet love stays.
O Time! take love! When love is vain,
When all its best joys die—
When only its regrets remain—
Let love, too, fly.
The Speech of Silence

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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The solemn Sea of Silence lies between us;
I know thou livest, and thou lovest me;
And yet I wish some white ship would come sailing
Across the ocean, bearing word from thee.

The dead-calm awes me with its awful stillness.
No anxious doubts or fears disturb my breast;
I only ask some little wave of language,
To stir this vast infinitude of rest.

I am oppressed with this great sense of loving;
So much I give, so much receive from thee,
Like subtle incense, rising from a censer,
So floats the fragrance of thy love round me.

All speech is poor, and written words unmeaning;
Yet such I ask, blown hither by some wind,
To give relief to this too perfect knowledge,
The Silence so impresses on my mind.

How poor the love that needeth word or message,
To banish doubt or nourish tenderness;
I ask them but to temper love's convictions
The Silence all too fully doth express.

Too deep the language which the spirit utters;
Too vast the knowledge which my soul hath stirred.
Send some white ship across the Sea of Silence,
And interrupt its utterance with a word.
Love's Coming

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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She had looked for his coming as warriors come,
With the clash of arms and the bugle's call;
But he came instead with a stealthy tread,
Which she did not hear at all.

She had thought how his armor would blaze in the sun,
As he rode like a prince to claim his bride:
In the sweet dim light of the falling night
She found him at her side.

She had dreamed how the gaze of his strange, bold eye
Would wake her heart to a sudden glow:
She found in his face the familiar grace
Of a friend she used to know.

She had dreamed how his coming would stir her soul,
As the ocean is stirred by the wild storm's strife:
He brought her the balm of a heavenly calm,
And a peace which crowned her life.
She Came and Went

by James Russell Lowell

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As a twig trembles, which a bird
Lights on to sing, then leaves unbent,
So is my memory thrilled and stirred;—
I only know she came and went.

As clasps some lake, by gusts unriven,
The blue dome’s measureless content,
So my soul held that moment’s heaven;—
I only know she came and went.

As, at one bound, our swift spring heaps
The orchards full of bloom and scent,
So clove her May my wintry sleeps;—
I only know she came and went.

An angel stood and met my gaze,
Through the low doorway of my tent;
The tent is struck, the vision stays;—
I only know she came and went.

Oh, when the room grows slowly dim,
And life’s last oil is nearly spent,
One gush of light these eyes will brim,
Only to think she came and went.
Desolation

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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I think that the bitterest sorrow or pain
Of love unrequited, or cold death's wo,
Is sweet, compared to that hour when we know
That some grand passion is on the wane;

When we see that the glory, and glow, and grace
Which lent a splendor to night and day,
Are surely fading, and showing the gray
And dull groundwork of the commonplace

When fond expressions on dull ears fall,
When the hands clasp calmly without one thrill,
When we cannot muster by force of will
The old emotions that came at call.

When the dream has vanished we fain would keep,
When the heart, like a watch, runs out of gear,
And all the savor goes out of the year,
Oh, then is the time—if we can—to weep!

But no tears soften this dull, pale wo,
We must sit and face it with dry, sad eyes.
If we seek to hold it, the swifter joy flies—
We can only be passive, and let it go.
New and Old

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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I and new love, in all its living bloom,
Sat vis-a-vis, while tender twilight hours
Went softly by us, treading as on flowers.
Then suddenly I saw within the room
The old love, long since lying in its tomb.
It dropped the cerecloth from its fleshless face
And smiled on me, with a remembered grace
That, like the noontide, lit the gloaming's gloom.

Upon its shroud there hung the grave's green mould,
About it hung the odor of the dead;
Yet from its cavernous eyes such light was shed
That all my life seemed gilded, as with gold;
Unto the trembling new love "Go," I said,
"I do not need thee, for I have the old."
Love's Language

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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How does Love speak?
In the faint flush upon the telltale cheek,
And in the pallor that succeeds it; by
The quivering lid of an averted eye—
The smile that proves the patent to a sigh
Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak?
By the uneven heart-throbs, and the freak
Of bounding pulses that stand still and ache,
While new emotions, like strange barges, make
Along vein-channels their disturbing course;
Still as the dawn, and with the dawn's swift force—
Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak?
In the avoidance of that which we seek—
The sudden silence and reserve when near—
The eye that glistens with an unshed tear—
The joy that seems the counterpart of fear,
As the alarmed heart leaps in the breast,
And knows, and names, and greets its godlike guest—
Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak?
In the proud spirit suddenly grown meek—
The haughty heart grown humble; in the tender
And unnamed light that floods the world with splendor;
In the resemblance which the fond eyes trace
In all fair things to one beloved face;
In the shy touch of hands that thrill and tremble;
In looks and lips that can no more dissemble—
Thus doth Love speak.

How does Love speak?
In the wild words that uttered seem so weak
They shrink ashamed to silence; in the fire
Glance strikes with glance, swift flashing high and higher,
Like lightnings that precede the mighty storm;
In the deep, soulful stillness; in the warm,
Impassioned tide that sweeps through throbbing veins,
Between the shores of keen delight and pains;
In the embrace where madness melts in bliss,
And in the convulsive rapture of a kiss—
Thus doth Love speak.
My Heritage

by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

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I into life so full of love was sent,
That all the shadows which fall on the way
Of every human being, could not stay,
But fled before the light my spirit lent.

I saw the world through gold and crimson dyes:
Men sighed and said, "Those rosy hues will fade
As you pass on into the glare and shade!"
Still beautiful the way seems to mine eyes.

They said, "You are too jubilant and glad;
The world is full of sorrow and of wrong.
Full soon your lips shall breathe forth sighs—not song!"
The day wears on, and yet I am not sad.

They said, "You love too largely, and you must
Through wound on wound, grow bitter to your kind."
They were false prophets; day by day I find
More cause for love, and less cause for distrust.

They said, "Too free you give your soul's rare wine;
The world will quaff, but it will not repay."
Yet in the emptied flagons, day by day,
True hearts pour back a nectar as divine.

Thy heritage! Is it not love's estate?
Look to it, then, and keep its soil well tilled.
I hold that my best wishes are fulfilled
Because I love so much, and cannot hate.
Abou Ben Adhem

by Leigh Hunt

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Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."

The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
The Tryst

by Mary E. Tucker

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I waited full two hours, or more,
Beneath the old pine tree,
Where oft I've lingered twilight hours,
Watching, my Love, for thee.

I waited till the shadows grew
Like giants, grim and grey;
I waited till night's coming chased
The shadows far away.

I waited for, I knew not what;
But, oh, I waited there,
Hoping, perchance, some ray to find,
To lighten my despair.

A year ago last May, I sat
Beneath the old pine-tree;
My tryst was not a broken one,
For, Love, you came to me.

I waited, and my spirit called
Thy spirit, Love, to me;
No tryst was ever broken there
Beneath the old pine-tree.
Love, and Hate

by Ellen P. Allerton

Although a thousand leagues two hearts divide,
That love has joined, the gulf is not so great
As that twixt two, who, dwelling side by side
Behold between, the black abyss of Hate.
Silence

by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse

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O many and vain, Belovéd,
The words I spoke to you
In those first wondering hours
When love was new!

Now we have wandered together
Into a mystic land,
Now we are silent, Belovéd,
Because we understand.
Loving Words

by Anonymous

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Loving words will cost but little,
Journeying up the hill of life;
But they make the weak and weary
Stronger, braver for the strife.
Do you count them only trifles?
What to earth are sun and rain?
Never was a kind word wasted,
Never was one said in vain.

When the cares of life are many,
And its burdens heavy grow,
For the ones who walk beside you;
If you love them, tell them so.
What you count of little value
Has an almost magic power,
And beneath their cheering sunshine
Hearts will blossom like a flower.

So, as up life's hill we journey,
Let us scatter, all the way,
Kindly words, to be as sunshine
In the dark and cloudy day.
Grudge no loving word or action,
As along through life you go;
To the ones who Journey with you,
If you love them, tell them so.
Little Things

by Anonymous

A cup of water timely brought,
An offered easy chair,
A turning of the window-blind,
That all may feel the air;
An early flower bestowed unasked,
A light and cautious tread,
A voice to softest whispers hushed
To spare an aching head—
Oh, things like these, though little things,
The purest love disclose,
As fragrant atoms in the air
Reveal the hidden rose.
Loving and Forgiving

by Charles Swain

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Oh, loving and forgiving—
Ye angel-words of earth,
Years were not worth the living
If ye too had not birth!
Oh, loving and forbearing—
How sweet your mission here;
The grief that ye are sharing
Hath blessings in its tear.

Oh, stern and unforgiving
Ye evil words of life,
That mock the means of living
With never-ending strife.
Oh, harsh and unrepenting—
How would ye meet the grave,
If Heaven, as unrelenting,
Forbore not, nor forgave!

Oh, loving and forgiving—
Sweet sisters of the soul,
In whose celestial living
The passions find control!
Still breathe your influence o'er us
Whene'er by passion crost.
And, angel-like, restore us
The paradise we lost.
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."
The Shell and the Heart

by Ruby Archer

Even as the shell doth glow
To myriad tints of beauty
Only upon that side
Not buried in the sand
But yielded to the magic
Of the sun,—
So will the heart take on
Its fairest hues of joy—
The radiance of being—
Turned to that light ineffable
Of love.
Love Is All

by Ruby Archer

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Would you be a monarch
Worshipped on a throne,
With no hand to clasp your own?
No—for love is all.

Would you be a Midas,
Opulent of gold,
Only paltry dross to hold?
No—for love is all.

Would you be a peasant,
Laboring through life,
With your dearest for your wife?
Yes—for love is all.
My Empire

by Ruby Archer

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I care not for the many,
If but my few are kind;
How poor are they who never joy
Apart from crowds can find.

Not fair to eyes my features;
But sorrow I control,
If what beyond the vision lies
Be lovely to your soul.

Tho' poor my lips in music,
The heart sings low and sweet;
And you may prove that harmony
Full-chorded and complete.

My brow aches not in crowning,
I reign all thrones above,
Possession have I beyond price—
The empire of your love.

To love and to be loved again—
What more has life to give?
O fools—to scorn this highest joy,
And yet lay claim to live!
Is Loving Like This?

by Ruby Archer

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Rhythmical meeting of fingers,
Perfect according of thought,
Feeling of presence that lingers,
All with a fine meaning fraught.

Brain in a sweet measure ringing,
Heart in a rapture of pain,
Arms that lie heavy in clinging,
Bounty that gives but to gain.

Eyes with a warm languor gleaming,
Lips that must kiss, ah—must kiss,—
This is the love of my dreaming.
Tell me, is loving like this?
Man and Dog and Horse and Tree

by Annette Wynne

Man and dog and horse and tree,
All are valued friends to me;
Who loves one and leaves the rest
Hardly chooses for the best;
I choose all—so let me be
Friend to man, dog, horse and tree.
Hearts Were Made to Give Away

by Annette Wynne

Hearts were made to give away
On Valentine's good day;
Wrap them up in dainty white,
Send them off the thirteenth night.
Any kind of heart that's handy—
Hearts of lace, and hearts of candy,
Hearts all trimmed with ribbands fine
Send for good St. Valentine.
Hearts were made to give away
On Valentine's dear day.
Hope is like a harebell

by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Hope is like a harebell trembling from its birth,
Love is like a rose the joy of all the earth;
Faith is like a lily lifted high and white,
Love is like a lovely rose the world’s delight;
Harebells and sweet lilies show a thornless growth,
But the rose with all its thorns excels them both.

So now faith, hope, and love abide, these three; but the greatest of these is love.

– 1 Corinthians 13:13
ESV

“
Greatness Is Goodness

by Evander A. Crewson

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Down along the vale of years
A Lincoln or Grady sometimes appears,
With grandest qualities in man combined,
Kind in heart and great in mind.

So great in mind, so kind in heart,
That dignity bears but little part;
We love him because we understand
Goodness and greatness go hand in hand.

Though mid stars his name be lined,
His love grows deeper for all mankind;
Though with jewels his crown be set,
That he is our friend we never forget.

Counting it all, the heart is the gate,
And only through love can greatness be great;
The greatest of names we have written above
On fame's blazing scroll are written by love.
Love's Millionaire

by Florence May Alt

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Within my little cottage
Are peace and warmth and light;
And loving welcome waiting
When I come home at night.
The polished kettle's steaming,
The snowy cloth is spread—
And close against my shoulder
There leans a smooth brown head!
Her eyes are lit with laughter
(They light the world for me)—
"For how much would you sell me?
Now tell me, sir!" cries she.
'Tis then I answer, somehow,
Between a smile and tear,
"Not for all the gold in Klondike!
The gold in Klondike, dear!"

When the cosy tea is over,
With many a frolic fond,
I sit and read my paper;
And from the room beyond
I hear the clink china,
The tread of nimble feet,
And broken bits of singing
That somehow ripple sweet.
I hear a rush and rustle
Behind my easy-chair;
Short, chubby arms enclasp me
And choke me unaware!
Into my arms is tumbled
A crinkled, golden head,
A ball of fluffy whiteness
That ought to be in bed.
She asks her mother's question—
I kiss the answer clear;
"Not for all the gold Klondike;
The gold in Klondike, dear!"

In dim and dusky office
I dig my bits of gold;
I suffer not with hunger,
Nor perish with the cold.
My nuggets needs by tiny
(I dig them with a pen),
But the Yukon's golden gravel
I leave for other men.
My treasure lies exhaustless,
My claim is staked with care;
What is all the gold in Klondike,
Since I'm love's millionaire?
Love's Lesson

by Jean Blewett

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One lesson let us bear in mind—
Be very gentle with our own,
Be to their faults a little blind,
Nor wound them by a look or tone.

Put self behind! turn tender eyes;
Keep back the words that hurt and sting;
We learn, when sorrow makes us wise,
Forbearance is the grandest thing.

Be patient lest some day we turn
Our eyes on loved one fast asleep,
And whisper, as we lean and yearn,
"How often I have made you weep!

"Some loved you not and words let fall
That must have pierced your gentle breast,
But I, who loved you best of all,
Hurt you far more than all the rest."

One lesson let us keep in mind—
To hold our dear ones close and fast,
Since loyal hearts are hard to find,
And life and love so soon are past.
Love's Tendril

by Georgia Douglas Johnson

Sweeter far than lyric rune
Is my baby's cooing tune;
Brighter than the butterflies
Are the gleams within her eyes;
Firmer than an iron band
Serves the zephyr of her hand;
Deeper than the ocean's roll
Sounds her heart-beat in my soul.
The Prison and the Angel

by Henry Van Dyke

Self is the only prison that can ever bind the soul;
Love is the only angel who can bid the gates unroll;
And when he comes to call thee, arise and follow fast;
His way may lie through darkness, but it leads to light at last.
Firelight

by J. R. Eastwood

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I gave the wealth of love for dross
Of falsehood, and I suffered loss:
For who shall tell the worth of love,
The light on earth from heaven above?

I sit and think of this, and see
The buried past that used to be:
And, in the dusk, the dying fire
Is flaming, ready to expire.

Love that is true is like the light
Of sun and stars, for ever bright:
Love that is filse is like the fire,
The flames that flash and then expire.

And love that sells itself for gold
Is dear to buy, and cheap to hold:
And love that gives itself for love
Is light on earth from heaven above.
Query

by Georgia Douglas Johnson

Is she the sage who will not sip
The cup love presses to her lip?
Or she who drinks the mad cup dry,
And turns with smiling face—to die?
If Love Were King

by Freeman E. Miller

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If Love were king,
That sacred Love which knows not selfish pleasure,
But for its children spends its fondest treasure,
Sad hearts would sing,
And all the hosts of misery and wrong
Forget their anguish in the happy song
That joy would bring.

If Love were king,
Gaunt wickedness would hide his loathsome features,
And virtue would to all the world's sad creatures
Her treasures fling;
Till drooping souls would rise above their fate,
And find sweet flowers for all the desolate
And sorrowing.

If Love were king,
Before the scepter of his might should vanish
Toil's curse and care, and happiness should banish
Want's awful sting;
While laughing plenty from sweet hands would throw
Delightful raptures over all below,
And gladness bring.

If Love were king,
The nations would eternal sunshine borrow,
And conquer all the heavy clouds of sorrow
And every thing
That binds the race in groans and agony;
Life's changing seasons would forever be
Unvaried spring.

If Love were king!
O, broken feet that wander worn and weary
Beneath the crags and awful mountains dreary,
With rapture cling
Your anguished arms about him; drink delight
Upon his perfect bosom soft and white
And comforting!
Reconciled

by Freeman E. Miller

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We meet again beyond the barren past,
Beyond the pride, the sorrows and the tears;
And yearnings leave the strife and hate of years
To flood our souls with perfect peace at last!
Our hearts forget the wrong so deep and vast,
The wounding words and all the cruel woe,
Till joy is all our bounding bosoms know,
And life is glad with happiness at last.

Love, deathless and forgiving, crowns with bays
The future and our hopes, as full of grace,
As youth had fondly dreamed in other days,
When first we knew how sweet was her embrace.
God's endless purpose guides the feet of men;
Beyond our pride we meet in love again!
Love Your Enemies

by Helen M. Johnson

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Arrows dipped in poison flew
From the fatal bow;
And they pierced my bosom through,
And they laid me low.

Every nerve to anguish strung,
In distress I cried:
And the waste around me rung,
But no voice replied.

"Cruel was the hand," I said,
"That could draw the bow:
Curses rest upon the head
Of my heartless foe!"

Turning straightway at the sound,
In the tangled wood,
Pale, and bearing many a wound,
There a stranger stood.

Mournfully on me he gazed,
Not a word he said:
But one hand the stranger raised,
And I saw it bled.

Blood was flowing from his side
And his thorn-pierced brow;
"Who has wounded thee?" I cried,
And he answered, "Thou!"

Then I knew the Stranger well,
And with sobs and tears
Prostrate at his feet I fell,
But he soothed my fears.

"Thou hast wounded me, but live,—
And my blessing take:
Henceforth wilt thou not forgive
Freely for my sake?"

Resting in his fond embrace,
Eased of every woe,—
Then I said, with smiling face,
"Jesus, bless my foe!"
Love and Friendship

by Emily Brontë

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Love is like the wild rose-briar,
Friendship like the holly-tree—
The holly is dark when the rose-briar blooms
But which will bloom most constantly?

The wild rose-briar is sweet in spring,
Its summer blossoms scent the air;
Yet wait till winter comes again
And who will call the wild-briar fair?

Then scorn the silly rose-wreath now
And deck thee with the holly’s sheen,
That when December blights thy brow
He still may leave thy garland green.
Love

by Elizabeth Ann Armstrong

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Love called and lo! I came to blossom on the tree of life.
The fruit of two united hearts with love and longing rife,
To draw forth care and tenderness, in life a place to fill,
To grow into a perfect soul of reason and free will

Love is the sweet and crowning glory of this life on earth,
From love's undying source came the mystery of birth.
Love's perfect plan remains unchanged it ever longs to give
Its tribune to the future of something that will live.

Warmed by love's sacred flame the humblest eot becomes a shrine,
Where sweet and tender memories like tendrils round it twine,
Without love's ties this life would be of very little worth,
But with love's power home can become the dearest spot on earth.

Love is a wondrous symphony, the music of the spheres,
Nature's sweetest song where perfect harmony appears.
The page of life is truly a great and wondrous scroll
On which to write love's melodies—the music of the soul.

How do I love thee? Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day? Annabel Lee A Red, Red Rose She Walks in Beauty If Thou Must Love Me, Let it be for Nought

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