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True Love Poems

Table of Contents

  1. True Love by Phoebe Cary
  2. True Love by Dora Read Goodale
  3. True Love by Joseph Horatio Chant
  4. True Love by Maurice Francis Egan
  5. My true love hath my heart by Sir Philip Sidney
  6. Love by James Russell Lowell
  7. My Love by James Russell Lowell
  8. Longing by Millie C. Pomeroy
  9. Forever by John Boyle O'Reilly

  1. True Love

    by Phoebe Cary

    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!

  2. True Love

    by Dora Read Goodale

    When all the earth is fresh and green,
    And Heaven's azure smiling too,
    When sunlight comes with golden gleam
    And shimmers in the shallow stream,
    We say we know that Earth is sweet,
    And all the shining heavens true.

    But when the clouds of wintry grey
    But dim the brightness of the sky,
    And all our sunshine fades away,
    Both out of doors and in, we say
    We know that Earth's few joys are fleet,
    And soon her fairest pleasures die.

    So Friendship in her summer's hour
    Seems pure and clear as Heaven's blue,
    But when the skies of Fortune lower,
    With cruel frown they try her power,
    And find, tho lovely for the time,
    She is, alas, how oft untrue!

    O blest the love that does not go,
    But strengthens with each winter's blast!
    That smiles when Fortune's light is low,
    And smiles again to see it glow,
    That smiles in youth, in age, in prime,—
    Such love as this will always last.

  3. True Love

    by Joseph Horatio Chant

    He loves not much who loves not honor more;
    If men lack this then love must lack as well;
    If this possessed no tongue love's depths can tell;
    The heart an ocean filled from shore to shore.

    Seeing in him the possibility
    Of likeness to the great and Blessed One;
    It may be even now in him begun.
    I love him much for what I hope to be,

    And show my love by yielding him his due;
    For sentimental love is ever vain,
    It cannot peace, much less heaven's favor gain;
    But those who love in deed are blessed and true.

  4. True Love

    by Maurice Francis Egan

    Is love the passion that the poets feign,
    Drawn from the ruins of old Grecian time,
    Born of the Hermae and all earthly slime,
    And tricked by troubadours in trappings vain
    Of flowers fantastic, like a Hindoo fane,
    Or the long meter of an antique rhyme
    Dancing in dactyls? Is love, then, a crime—
    A rosy day's eternity of pain?

    If we love God, we know what loving is;
    For love is God's: He sent it to the earth,
    Half-human, half-divine, all glorious—
    Half-human, half-divine, but wholly His;
    Not loving God, we know not true love's worth,
    We taste not the great gift He gave for us.

  5. 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.

  6. Love

    James Russell Lowell

    True Love is but a humble, low-born thing,
    And hath its food served up in earthen ware;
    It is a thing to walk with, hand in hand,
    Through the every-dayness of this work-day world,
    Baring its tender feet to every roughness,
    Yet letting not one heart-beat go astray
    From Beauty’s law of plainness and content;
    A simple, fire-side thing, whose quiet smile
    Can warm earth’s poorest hovel to a home;
    Which, when our autumn cometh, as it must,
    And life in the chill wind shivers bare and leafless,
    Shall still be blest with Indian-summer youth
    In bleak November, and, with thankful heart,
    Smile on its ample stores of garnered fruit,
    As full of sunshine to our aged eyes
    As when it nursed the blossoms of our spring.
    Such is true Love, which steals into the heart
    With feet as silent as the lightsome dawn
    That kisses smooth the rough brows of the dark,
    And hath its will through blissful gentleness,—
    Not like a rocket, which, with savage glare,
    Whirrs suddenly up, then bursts, and leaves the night
    Painfully quivering on the dazed eyes;
    A love that gives and takes, that seeth faults,
    Not with flaw-seeking eyes like needle-points,
    But, loving kindly, ever looks them down
    With the o’ercoming faith of meek forgiveness;
    A love that shall be new and fresh each hour,
    As is the golden mystery of sunset,
    Or the sweet coming of the evening-star,
    Alike, and yet most unlike, every day,
    And seeming ever best and fairest now;
    A love that doth not kneel for what it seeks,
    But faces Truth and Beauty as their peer,
    Showing its worthiness of noble thoughts
    By a clear sense of inward nobleness,
    A love that in its object findeth not
    All grace and beauty, and enough to sate
    Its thirst of blessing, but, in all of good
    Found there, it sees but Heaven-granted types
    Of good and beauty in the soul of man,
    And traces, in the simplest heart that beats,
    A family-likeness to its chosen one,
    That claims of it the rights of brotherhood.
    For Love is blind but with the fleshly eye,
    That so its inner sight may be more clear;
    And outward shows of beauty only so
    Are needful at the first, as is a hand
    To guide and to uphold an infant’s steps:
    Great spirits need them not; their earnest look
    Pierces the body’s mask of thin disguise,
    And beauty ever is to them revealed,
    Behind the unshapeliest, meanest lump of clay,
    With arms outstretched and eager face ablaze,
    Yearning to be but understood and loved.

  7. 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.

  8. Longing

    by Millie C. Pomeroy

    Out from the tenement's highest row,
    Out from the broken and toppling blind
    I peer and whisper: I love you so—
    Pray, come tonight on the summer wind—
    Out from the throng of the angels there,
    Come to the maiden you used to know,
    With the lovely form and the wonderful hair;
    And a heart that thrills to the long ago.

    They say I am old and will soon be there;
    Each day is an age while I wait for you—
    Cheat fate a little and take me away
    Where the seeming is real and the false is true.
    Gather me swift from the form I wear,
    Our hearts will in deathless love entwine,
    Fulfill the edict of long ago
    That made me yours, as you are mine.

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