The Nature Of Love
Love is the Spirit of Life, and Music the Life of the Spirit!
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.
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 skillful 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,
Love, when we met, 'twas like two planets meeting,
Strange chaos followed; body, soul, and heart
Seemed shaken, thrilled, and startled by that greeting,
Old ties, old dreams, old aims, all torn apart
And wrenched away, left nothing there the while
But the great shining glory of your smile.
Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it;
Cast sweets into its cup whene'er you can.
No heart so hard, but love at last may win it;
Love is the grand primeval cause of man;
All hate is foreign to the first great plan.
Love is the centre and circumference;
The cause and aim of all things - 'tis the key
To joy and sorrow, and the recompense
For all the ills that have been, or may be.
Age cannot Love destroy,
But Perfidy can blast the flower,
Even when in most unwary hour
It blooms in Fancy's bower.
Age cannot Love destroy,
But Perfidy can rend the shrine
In which its vermeil splendours shine.
To Harriet (Thy look of love ...)
Thy look of love has power to calm
The stormiest passion of my soul;
Thy gentle words are drops of balm
In life's too bitter bowl;
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the Ocean,
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine? --
What The Bee Is To The Floweret
What the bank with verdure glowing,
Is to waves that wander near,
Whisp'ring kisses, while they're going,
That I'll be to you, my dear.
Yet Love hath echoes truer far,
And far more sweet,
Than e'er, beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,
The songs repeat.
To sigh, yet feel no pain,
To weep, yet scarce know why;
To sport an hour with Beauty's chain,
Then throw it idly by;
To kneel at many a shrine,
Yet lay the heart on none;
To think all other charms divine,
But those we just have won;
This is love, careless love,
Such as kindleth hearts that rove.
Odes To Nea: There's not a look, a word of thine...
There's not a look, a word of thine
My soul hath e'er forgot;
Thou ne'er hast bid a ringlet shine,
Nor given thy locks one graceful twine,
Which I remember not!
The beam of morning trembling
Stole o'er the mountain brook,
With timid ray resembling
Affection's early look,
Thus love begins -- sweet morn of love!
When midst the gay I meet
That blessed smile of thine,
Though still on me it turns most sweet,
I scarce can call it mine:
But when to me alone
Your secret tears you show,
Oh! then I feel those tears my own,
And claim them while they flow.
Then still with bright looks bless
The gay, the cold, the free;
Give smiles to those who love you less,
But keep your tears for me.
'Tis said -- but whether true or not
Let bards declare who've seen 'em --
That Love and Time have only got
One pair of wings between 'em.
In courtship's first delicious hour,
The boy full well can spare 'em;
So, loitering in his lady's bower,
He lets the greybeard wear 'em.
Then is Time's hour of play;
Oh, how he flies away!
Oh, remember the time, in La Mancha's shades,
When our moments so blissfully flew;
When you call'd me the flower of Castilian maids,
And I blushed to be called so by you;
When I taught you to warble the gay seguadille;
And to dance to the light castanet;
O, never, dear youth, let you roam where you will,
The delight of those moments forget.
She has beauty, but still you must keep your heart cool!
She has wit, but you mustn't be caught so:
Thus Reason advises, but Reason's a fool,
And 'tis not the first time I have thought so;
Dear Fanny,
'Tis not the first time I have thought so.
Oh, No - Not E'en When First We Loved.
Oh! no -- not e'en when first we loved,
Wert thou as dear as now thou art;
Thy beauty then my senses moved,
But now thy virtues bind my heart.
What was but Passion's sigh before,
Has since been turned to Reason's vow;
And, though I then might love thee more,
Trust me, I love thee better now.
When Love is kind,
Cheerful and free,
Love's sure to find
Welcome from me.
Like Dian's kiss, unasked, unsought,
Love gives itself, but is not bought;
Nor voice, nor sound betrays
Its deep, impassioned gaze.
Annie of Tharaw, my riches, my good,
Thou, O my soul, my flesh and my blood!
Then come the wild weather, come sleet, or come snow,
We will stand by each other, however it blow.
Who love would seek,
Let him love evermore
And seldom speak;
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