Love poems

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1285

Father, I Know that all my Life

The hand and foot that stir not, they shall findSooner than all the rightful place to go;Now in their motion free as roving wind,Though first no snail more limited and slow;I mark them full of labor all the day,Each active motion made in perfect rest;They cannot from their path mistaken stray,Though 't is not theirs, yet in it they are blest;The bird has not their hidden track found out,Nor cunning fox, though full of art he be;It is the way unseen, the certain route,Where ever bound, yet thou art ever free;The path of Him, whose perfect law of loveBids spheres and atoms in just order move

The Cup

© Jones Very

The bitterness of death is on me now,Before me stands its dark unclosing door;Yet to Thy will submissive still I bow,And follow Him who for me went before;The tomb cannot contain me though I die,For His strong love awakes its sleeping dead,And bids them through Himself ascend on highTo Him who is of all the living Head;I gladly enter through the gloomy walls,Where they have passed who loved their Master here;The voice they heard, to me it onward calls,And can when faint my sinking spirit cheer;And from the joy on earth it now has given,Lead on to joy eternal in the heaven

Echoes from the Greek Anthology

© Henry Van Dyke

I. STARLIGHT1.2Thou lookest on the stars above:1.3Ah, would that I the heaven might be1.4With a million eyes to look on thee.

Ode to Stephen Dowling Bots, Dec'd.

© Mark Twain

And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die?And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry?

The Wedding Posy

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)

Thanks to thy newly-wedded hand, which gaveThese bridal honours to the tomb to-day,A daughter's wedding posy! Who shall sayIt is a truant at a father's grave?O'er the blue hills, fair Edith, thou art gone;Thou and thy votive flowers are sunder'd wide;But still ye are so tenderly alliedOn earth, that your twin sweetness shall be oneIn heaven

To A Friend

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)

My low deserts consist not with applauseSo kindly -- when I fain would deem it so,My sad heart, musing on its proper flaws,Thy gentle commendation must forego;As toys, which, glued together, hold awhile,But, haply brought too near some searching fire,Start from their frail compacture, and beguileThe child, that pieced them, of his fond desire:I was a very child for that brief tide,Whenas I join'd and solder'd thy good wordWith my poor merits -- 'twas a moment's pride --The flames of conscience sunder'd their accord:My heart dropt off in sorrow from thy praise,Self-knowledge baulk'd self-love so many ways

A Night-Charge Against A Swan By A Lover

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)

The swan, wild-clanging, scoured the midnight lake,And broke my dream of Annie, and I lay,Through those brief hours before the dawn of day,Chiding the sound that startled me awake

The Mute Lovers On the Railway Journey

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)

They bade farwell; but neither spoke of love

The Marble Landing

© Turner Charles (Tennyson)

They sunk a graven stone into the groundWhere first our Garibaldi's ship was moor'd,Whereon an angry record of his woundBeneath those fair memorial lines, was scor'd;At night the accusing tablet was replacedBy one, discharged of that injurious word,That pierced the general bosom like a sword,Belied their love, their common hope disgrac'd

The Cricket

© Frederick Goddard Tuckerman

The humming bee purrs softly o'er his flower, From lawn and thicketThe dogday locust singeth in the sun, From hour to hour;Each has his bard, and thou, ere day be done Shalt have no wrong;So bright that murmur mid the insect crowdMuffled and lost in bottom grass, or loud By pale and picket:Shall I not take to help me in my song A little cooing cricket?

The afternoon is sleepy!, let us lieBeneath these branches, whilst the burdened brookMuttering and moaning to himself goes by,And mark our minstrel's carol, whilst we lookToward the faint horizon, swooning-blue

The Old School

© Tsiriotakis Helen

But to say what you want to say you must createanother language and nourish it for yearsand years with what you have loved

And Her Mother Came Too

I seem to be the victim of a cruel jest,It dogs my footsteps with the girl I love the best.She's just the sweetest thing that I have ever known,But still we never get the chance to be alone.