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Ad Finum

On the white throat of useless passion
That scorched my soul with its burning breath
I clutched my fingers in murderous fashion
And gathered them close in a grip of death;

For why should I fan, or feed with fuel,
A love that showed me but blank despair?
So my hold was firm, and my grasp was cruel -
I meant to strangle it then and there!

I thought it was dead. But, with no warning,
It rose from its grave last night and came
And stood by my bed till the early morning.
And over and over it spoke your name.

Its throat was red where my hands had held it;
It burned my brow with its scorching breath;
And I said, the moment my eyes beheld it,
'A love like this can know no death.'

For just one kiss that your lips have given
In the lost and beautiful past to me,
I would gladly barter my hopes of Heaven
And all the bliss of Eternity.

For never a joy are the angels keeping,
To lay at my feet in Paradise,
Like that of into your strong arms creeping,
And looking into your love lit eyes.

I know, in the way that sins are reckoned,
This thought is a sin of the deepest dye;
But I know too that if an angel beckoned,
Standing close by the Throne on High,
And you, adown by the gates infernal,
Should open your loving arms and smile,
I would turn my back on things supernal,
To lie on your breast a little while.

To know for an hour you were mine completely-
Mine in body and soul, my own-
I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
With not a murmur and not a moan.

A lighter sin or lesser error
Might change through hope or fear divine;
But there is no fear, and hell hath no terror,
To change or alter a love like mine.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

The Mother

Here I lean over you, small son, sleeping
Warm in my arms,
And I con to my heart all your dew-fresh charms,
As you lie close, close in my hungry hold . . .
Your hair like a miser's dream of gold,
And the white rose of your face far fairer,
Finer, and rarer
Than all the flowers in the young year's keeping;
Over lips half parted your low breath creeping
Is sweeter than violets in April grasses;
Though your eyes are fast shut I can see their blue,
Splendid and soft as starshine in heaven,
With all the joyance and wisdom given
From the many souls who have stanchly striven
Through the dead years to be strong and true.

Those fine little feet in my worn hands holden . . .
Where will they tread ?
Valleys of shadow or heights dawn-red?
And those silken fingers, O, wee, white son,
What valorous deeds shall by them be done
In the future that yet so distant is seeming
To my fond dreaming?
What words all so musical and golden
With starry truth and poesy olden

Shall those lips speak in the years on-coming?
O, child of mine, with waxen brow,
Surely your words of that dim to-morrow
Rapture and power and grace must borrow
From the poignant love and holy sorrow
Of the heart that shrines and cradles you now!

Some bitter day you will love another,
To her will bear
Love-gifts and woo her . . . then must I share
You and your tenderness! Now you are mine
From your feet to your hair so golden and fine,
And your crumpled finger-tips . . . mine completely,
Wholly and sweetly;
Mine with kisses deep to smother,
No one so near to you now as your mother!
Others may hear your words of beauty,
But your precious silence is mine alone;
Here in my arms I have enrolled you,
Away from the grasping world I fold you,
Flesh of my flesh and bone of my bone!

poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fragoletta

O LOVE! what shall be said of thee?
The son of grief begot by joy?
Being sightless, wilt thou see?
Being sexless, wilt thou be
Maiden or boy?

I dreamed of strange lips yesterday
And cheeks wherein the ambiguous blood
Was like a rose’s—yea,
A rose’s when it lay
Within the bud.

What fields have bred thee, or what groves
Concealed thee, O mysterious flower,
O double rose of Love’s,
With leaves that lure the doves
From bud to bower?

I dare not kiss it, lest my lip
Press harder than an indrawn breath,
And all the sweet life slip
Forth, and the sweet leaves drip,
Bloodlike, in death.

O sole desire of my delight!
O sole delight of my desire!
Mine eyelids and eyesight
Feed on thee day and night
Like lips of fire.

Lean back thy throat of carven pearl,
Let thy mouth murmur like the dove’s;
Say, Venus hath no girl,
No front of female curl,
Among her Loves.

Thy sweet low bosom, thy close hair,
Thy strait soft flanks and slenderer feet,
Thy virginal strange air,
Are these not over fair
For Love to greet?

How should he greet thee? what new name,
Fit to move all men’s hearts, could move
Thee, deaf to love or shame,
Love’s sister, by the same
Mother as Love?

Ah sweet, the maiden’s mouth is cold,
Her breast-blossoms are simply red,
Her hair mere brown or gold,
Fold over simple fold
Binding her head.

Thy mouth is made of fire and wine,
Thy barren bosom takes my kiss
And turns my soul to thine
And turns thy lip to mine,
And mine it is.

Thou hast a serpent in thine hair,
In all the curls that close and cling;
And ah, thy breast-flower!
Ah love, thy mouth too fair
To kiss and sting!

Cleave to me, love me, kiss mine eyes,
Satiate thy lips with loving me;
Nay, for thou shalt not rise;
Lie still as Love that dies
For love of thee.

Mine arms are close about thine head,
My lips are fervent on thy face,
And where my kiss hath fed
Thy flower-like blood leaps red
To the kissed place.

O bitterness of things too sweet!
O broken singing of the dove!
Love’s wings are over fleet,
And like the panther’s feet
The feet of Love.

poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Close, Yet So Far

(words & music by joy byers)
So close, yet so far from paradise
I hold, you in my arms, in paradise
Is mine, then you slip away
Like a child at play, and here am i
So close, yet so far from paradise
When you, are close to me, it's paradise
We kiss, oh my love, paradise
Is mine, then suddenly you're gone from me
Like a floating star, i see, and here am i
So close, yet so far from paradise
I reach out for you, but each time i do
I always find you gone
I know love is new, i'll take care of you
In my arms is where you belong
Just, a step away, are we from paradise
Take my hand, come away, to paradise
My love, i want you close to me
I need you desperately, oh here am i
Waiting for you
Here am i
Praying for you
Here am i, so close, yet so far from paradise

song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Looking East

LITTLE white clouds, why are you flying
Over the sky so blue and cold?
Fair faint hopes, why are you lying
Over my heart like a white cloud's fold?

Slender green leaves, why are you peeping
Out of the ground where the snow yet lies?
Toying west wind, why are you creeping
Like a child's breath across my eyes?

Hope and terror by turns consuming,
Lover and friend put far from me,--
What should I do with the bright spring, coming
Like an angel over the sea?

Over the cruel sea that parted
Me from mine own, and rolls between;--
Out of the woful east, whence darted
Heaven's full quiver of vengeance keen.

Day teaches day, night whispers morning--
'Hundreds are weeping their dead, while thou
Weeping thy living--Rise, be adorning
Thy brows, unwidowed, with smiles.'--But how?

O, had he married me!--unto anguish,
Hardship, sickness, peril, and pain;
That on my breast his head might languish
In lonely jungle or scorching plain;

O, had we stood on some rampart gory,
Till he--ere Horror behind us trod--
Kissed me, and killed me--so, with his glory
My soul went happy and pure to God!

Nay, nay, Heaven pardon me! me, sick-hearted,
Living this long, long life-in-death:
Many there are far wider parted
Who under one roof-tree breathe one breath.

But we that loved--whom one word half broken
Had drawn together close soul to soul
As lip to lip--and it was not spoken,
Nor may be while the world's ages roll.

I sit me down with my tears all frozen:
I drink my cup, be it gall or wine:
For I know, if he lives, I am his chosen--
I know, if he dies, that he is mine.

If love in its silence be greater, stronger
Than million promises, sighs, or tears--
I will wait upon Him a little longer
Who holdeth the balance of our years.

Little white clouds, like angels flying,
Bring the spring with you across the sea--
Loving or losing, living or dying,
Lord, remember, remember me!

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gertrude, Or Fidelity Till Death

Dark lowers our fate,
And terrible the storm that gathers o'er us;
But nothing, till that latest agony
Which severs thee from nature, shall unloose
This fix'd and sacred hold. In thy dark prison-house,
In the terrific face of armed law,
Yea, on the scaffold, if it needs must be,
I never will forsake thee.

-Joanna Baillie

HER hands were clasp'd, her dark eyes rais'd,
The breeze threw back her hair;
Up to the fearful wheel she gaz'd–
All that she lov'd was there.

The night was round her clear and cold,
The holy heaven above,
Its pale stars watching to behold
The might of earthly love.

'And bid me not depart,' she cried,
'My Rudolph, say not so!
This is no time to quit thy side,
Peace, peace! I cannot go.

Hath the world aught for me to fear,
When death is on thy brow?
The world!–what means it?–mine is here–
I will not leave thee now.

'I have been with thee in thine hour
Of glory and of bliss;
Doubt not its memory's living power
To strengthen me thro' this!

And thou, mine honour'd love and true,
Bear on, bear nobly on!
We have the blessed heaven in view,
Whose rest shall soon be won.'

And were not these high words to flow
From woman's breaking heart?
Thro' all that night of bitterest woe
She bore her lofty part;

But oh! with such a glazing eye,
With such a curdling cheek–
Love, love! of mortal agony,
Thou, only thou, should'st speak!

The wind rose high–but with it rose
Her voice, that he might hear:
Perchance that dark hour brought repose
To happy bosoms near;

While she sat striving with despair
Beside his tortured form,
And pouring her deep soul in prayer
Forth on the rushing storm.

She wiped the death-damps from his brow
With her pale hands and soft,
Whose touch upon the lute-chords low
Had still'd his heart so oft.

She spread her mantle o'er his breast,
She bath'd his lips with dew,
And on his cheek such kisses press'd
As hope and joy ne'er knew.

Oh! lovely are ye, Love and Faith,
Enduring to the last!
She had her meed–one smile in death–
And his worn spirit pass'd.

While ev'n as o'er a martyr's grave
She knelt on that sad spot,
And, weeping, bless'd the God who gave
Strength to forsake it not!

poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Night

I send you down my love tonight
On a dream that i can hold you near
Will the message in your eyes
Take shape and crystalize
Or will you disappear
That feeling when you sigh
I could not want you more
Ah , so close and yet so far
And you know it's where we are
And the moment i have waited for
The rhythm of the turning tide
And every start that shines in harmony
Like the fairy tale you read
Like the only heart you need
Is here inside of me
And we are held in time
Your love lost in mine
There is no yesterday
Just the music on the bay
We can lie together
Make forever
One night for lovers
Kiss your lover tonight
On a night like this you lie awake
And no one can tell you why
You fall in love , and love takes over
With no goodbye
I'm dancing in your arms
Tonight i'd give my life for you
If you were
Mia no te voy hacer llorar
Dime lo que quieras me amor
It's the way it has to be
If i get you close to me
I will not let you go
Say you'll be in my arms
Don't make me wait so long
Ah , love me with your lips
Touch me with your touch
Fill me up with one anticipation
One night for lovers
Kiss your lover tonight
On a night like this you lie awake
And no one can tell you why
You fall in love and love takes over
And there is no goodbye
I'm dancing in your arms
And i'm close enough to know
You make me yours
And you
You're mine
You're mine
And the wonder of it all
When tomorrow comes , i call you mine
I'm the promise you fulfill
In a lifetime you will still be mine

song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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First Time

Your hands run over my breast
You slide into me as my body welcomes you as a guest
Your body moves as mine follows the steady pace
As your body bulids it becomes a race.
My mind fills with this lust, this power
It shall not let me cower
As the slow beat of music plays
I think of how how this memmory shall stay,
In my soul, in my heart.
My body waits for the feelings to start.
As reality hits I remember this is my first
But now the need for more fills my heart with it's thirst
You move faster, and the pain fills my veins, my blood
The pain quickly lessons as my thoughts turn to mud
Here and now is all that matters, all I seak
My body arches as we reach the peak.
Your movements start to slow
Making movements a steady flow
You retreat from my body yet remain in my grasp
As our breaths turn to steady gasps.
You smile as you lay next to me
And now the whole of you I see
I smile back as your lips press against my hair
I meet your lips with mine with passion with care.
I close my eyes to replay the moment over again
And now my true life will begin
My head lay on your chest
My eyes filled with you, this feeling is the best
I close my eyes again to sleep.
For tomorrowI will weep.
But now I sleep in your arms, in your mind
This night was so calm, so kind
As your arms pass over me one last time
So slow, so soft for you know this is my first time
You watch me as I sleep, and ask yourself if I left what would you do
So you kiss me once more and whisper 'I love you'

poem by Bethany Maxwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Queen Mother's Faith: Love Lives On!

My love's not like a red, red rose because a rose can die...
My love lives on, past death it goes and grows not asking why...
It has no need to ask at all the reason it exists...
It simply answers my heart's call, content that it persists.
Think not my death ends love's embrace, for love's eternal, dear...
It overcomes what fools can't face and what all cowards fear.
Death's lost its sting and poison, too! What can it do to me?
In truth, I've seen the Saviour's view who conquered Calvary!
In Him, I hold no fear of death, for it can't crush my soul...
God grants to me eternal breath and blood it can't control!
That's why I'll love you when I'm gone and wait till you join me...
By faith, I've seen the Saviour's Throne, beheld His majesty!
Think not that I'm then lost in space and distanced from your heart,
For I'm still in a state of grace with God's Love to impart...
I'll be with you throughout all time! I'll love you without end!
I'll prove to you that love's sublime - more faithful than a friend!
Believe in me as in the Lord who gave His life to save...
Think not of me as one ignored still dormant in a grave...
I live in Christ, triumphant still! Forgiven all my sins...
I love you now... I always will... I simply serve God's Prince...

poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Spanish Love Song

From Andalusian gardens
I bring the rose and rue,
And leaves of subtle odour,
To weave a gift for you.
You’ll know the reason wherefore
The sad is with the sweet;
My flowers may lie, as I would,
A carpet for your feet!
The heart—the heart is constant;
It holds its secret, Dear!
But often in the night time
I keep awake for fear.
I have no hope to whisper,
I have no prayer to send,
God save you from such passion!
God help you from such end!

You first, you last, you false love!
In dreams your lips I kiss,
And thus I greet your Shadow,
“Take this, and this, and this!”
When dews are on the casement,
And winds are in the pine,
I have you close beside me—
In sleep your mouth is mine.

I never see you elsewhere;
You never think of me;
But fired with fever for you
Content I am to be.
You will not turn, my Darling,
Nor answer when I call;
But yours are soul are body
And love of mine and all!

You splendid Spaniard! Listen—
My passion leaps to flame
For neck and cheek and dimple,
And cunning shades of shame!
I tell you, I would gladly
Give Hell myself to keep,
To cling to, half a moment,
The lips I taste in sleep.

poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soul Kiss

Kiss... soul kiss...
If you wanna talk and you wanna laugh a while
Or you just want silence and a smile
If you wanna walk or just float along the nile
If you wanna turn the day into something kind of night
All you have to do is breathe with your lips close to mine
Oh. baby. thats the kinda love weve got
We dont have to look too far to try to find a love that night
Soul kiss where love cant miss
We found a way to hold on to the wonders of a
Soul kiss kind of bliss
That finds its way straight into the one you love
If you wanna cry or just listen to your sighs
Theres no judgement in these eyes
Boy. if you wanna fly or maybe settle in versailles
We could just order pizza an roll around and start a fire
All you have to do is breathe with your lips close to mine
Oh. baby. thats the kinda love weve got
We dont even have to stop to check the clock were so on time
Soul kiss where love cant miss
We found a way to hold on to the wonders of a
Soul kiss kind of bliss
That finds its way straight into the one you love
Baby... soul kiss...
Kiss... soul kiss...
Hey, come on...
Soul kiss where love cant miss
We found a way to hold on to the wonders of a
Soul kiss kind of bliss
That finds its way straight into the one you love
Kiss... kiss me... the soul kiss... straight into the one you love
If you wanna walk.. if you wanna talk... if you wanna fly... if you wanna cry
Kiss... come on... gimme a little soul kiss...

song performed by by Diana Ross, music by Nick Martinelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sick bed[2}

The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.

My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.

Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.

Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sick bed

The flue eats
my head and throat and body
and still you come and lie
close against me
and let your fingers
branch right through mine.

My throat burns
and I am scared
that you will also
get something
of this awful thing,
but without a worry
you kiss me
and I can feel life
pulsing on your soft hot lips.

Your fingers tickle the hairs
on my lip and chin
and there are teasing devils
dancing in your eyes,
while your fingers
creep to places
under my arms.

Like a child
I am given medicine
while I am already
much better,
in my soul and spirit
since you are with me.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Confessional, The

[SPAIN.]

It is a lie---their Priests, their Pope,
Their Saints, their ... all they fear or hope
Are lies, and lies---there! through my door
And ceiling, there! and walls and floor,
There, lies, they lie---shall still be hurled
Till spite of them I reach the world!

II.

You think Priests just and holy men!
Before they put me in this den
I was a human creature too,
With flesh and blood like one of you,
A girl that laughed in beauty's pride
Like lilies in your world outside.

III.

I had a lover---shame avaunt!
This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt,
Was kissed all over till it burned,
By lips the truest, love e'er turned
His heart's own tint: one night they kissed
My soul out in a burning mist.

IV.

So, next day when the accustomed train
Of things grew round my sense again,
``That is a sin,'' I said: and slow
With downcast eyes to church I go,
And pass to the confession-chair,
And tell the old mild father there.

But when I falter Beltran's name,
``Ha?'' quoth the father; ``much I blame
``The sin; yet wherefore idly grieve?
``Despair not---strenuously retrieve!
``Nay, I will turn this love of thine
``To lawful love, almost divine;

VI.

``For he is young, and led astray,
``This Beltran, and he schemes, men say,
``To change the laws of church and state
``So, thine shall be an angel's fate,
``Who, ere the thunder breaks, should roll
``Its cloud away and save his soul.

VII.

``For, when he lies upon thy breast,
``Thou mayst demand and be possessed
``Of all his plans, and next day steal
``To me, and all those plans reveal,
``That I and every priest, to purge
``His soul, may fast and use the scourge.''

VIII.

That father's beard was long and white,
With love and truth his brow seemed bright;
I went back, all on fire with joy,
And, that same evening, bade the boy
Tell me, as lovers should, heart-free,
Something to prove his love of me.

IX.

He told me what he would not tell
For hope of heaven or fear of hell;
And I lay listening in such pride!
And, soon as he had left my side,
Tripped to the church by morning-light
To save his soul in his despite.

I told the father all his schemes,
Who were his comrades, what their dreams;
``And now make haste,'' I said, ``to pray
``The one spot from his soul away;
``To-night he comes, but not the same
``Will look!'' At night he never came.

XI.

Nor next night: on the after-morn,
I went forth with a strength new-born.
The church was empty; something drew
My steps into the street; I knew
It led me to the market-place:
Where, lo, on high, the father's face!

XII.

That horrible black scaffold dressed,
That stapled block ... God sink the rest!
That head strapped back, that blinding vest,
Those knotted hands and naked breast,
Till near one busy hangman pressed,
And, on the neck these arms caressed ...

XIII.

No part in aught they hope or fear!
No heaven with them, no hell!---and here,
No earth, not so much space as pens
My body in their worst of dens
But shall bear God and man my cry,
Lies---lies, again---and still, they lie!

poem by Robert Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Want To Wake Up With You

When the morning coming and i' m opening my eyes,
I want to see your face and your amazing eyes,
Your smile to wrap me in happiness and joy,
I want to wake up with you.

I want to be the first one that you see,
To give me your first smile and a kiss to me,
To feel your warmth, your silence, your joy,
I want to wake up with you.

I want to keep your hand into mine,
And play with my fingers through your hair,
Kissing you tenderly each time you smile,
I want to wake up with you.

To lay my head on your shoulder,
And feel your breath so close,
I want to hold your heart and protect it,
I want to wake up with you.

To listen your tender whispers,
To feel your smooth skin touching mine,
Your arms passionately hugging me,
I want to wake up with you.

So, i had open my eyes in morning,
Surrounded by roses and love,
I feel like a gorgeous woman in your arms,
I want to wake up with you.

poem by Cristina Teodor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All That Love Asks

All that I ask, 'says Love, 'is just to stand
And gaze, unchided, deep in thy dear eyes;
For in their depths lies largest Paradise.
Yet, if perchance one pressure of thy hand
Be granted me, then joy I thought complete
Were still more sweet.

'All that I ask, ' says Love, 'all that I ask,
Is just thy hand clasp. Could I brush thy cheek
As zephyrs brush a rose leaf, words are weak
To tell the bliss in which my soul would bask.
There is no language but would desecrate
A joy so great.

'All that I ask, is just one tender touch
Of that soft cheek. Thy pulsing palm in mine,
Thy dark eyes lifted in a trust divine
And those curled lips that tempt me overmuch
Turned where I may not seize the supreme bliss
Of one mad kiss.

'All that I ask, ' says Love, 'of life, of death,
Or of high heaven itself, is just to stand,
Glance melting into glance, hand twined in hand,
The while I drink the nectar of thy breath,
In one sweet kiss, but one, of all thy store,
I ask no more.'

'All that I ask'-nay, self-deceiving Love,
Reverse thy phrase, so thus the words may fall,
In place of 'all I ask, ' say, 'I ask all, '
All that pertains to earth or soars above,
All that thou wert, art, will be, body, soul,
Love asks the whole.

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the twilight of beauty thy bathe

In the twilight of beauty thy bathe
Thy slender soul gaunt and grave
With solemn peace thy soul lay
Alive and well between night and day
So gracious thy art to me divine
Everything beautiful and never mine
Subtly pervasive thy cool my fear
As thou art the license in my sultry leer
Dressed in gray, delicate as a dead flower
Thou art the love of my ethereal hour
The love of me my love's name
Gilded by desire and polished in shame
Deceptive and strange thy take my breath
For my love, my love, I love thee to my death

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Confessional

It is a lie—their Priests, their Pope,
Their Saints, their . . . all they fear or hope
Are lies, and lies—there! through my door
And ceiling, there! and walls and floor,
There, lies, they lie—shall still be hurled
Till spite of them I reach the world!

III

I had a lover—shame avaunt!
This poor wrenched body, grim and gaunt,
Was kissed all over till it burned,
By lips the truest, love e'er turned
His heart's own tint: one night they kissed
My soul out in a burning mist.

So, next day when the accustomed train
Of things grew round my sense again,
"That is a sin," I said: and slow
With downcast eyes to church I go,
And pass to the confession-chair,
And tell the old mild father there.

But when I falter Beltran's name,
"Ha?" quoth the father; "much I blame
"The sin; yet wherefore idly grieve?
"Despair not—strenuously retrieve!
"Nay, I will turn this love of thine
"To lawful love, almost divine;

"For he is young, and led astray,
"This Beltran, and he schemes, men say,
"To change the laws of church and state
"So, thine shall be an angel's fate,
"Who, ere the thunder breaks, should roll
"Its cloud away and save his soul.

VII

"For, when he lies upon thy breast,
"Thou mayst demand and be possessed
"Of all his plans, and next day steal
"To me, and all those plans reveal,
"That I and every priest, to purge
"His soul, may fast and use the scourge."

VIII

I told the father all his schemes,
Who were his comrades, what their dreams;
"And now make haste," I said, "to pray
"The one spot from his soul away;
"To-night he comes, but not the same
"Will look!" At night he never came.

XII

That horrible black scaffold dressed,
That stapled block . . . God sink the rest!
That head strapped back, that blinding vest,
Those knotted hands and naked breast,
Till near one busy hangman pressed,
And, on the neck these arms caressed . . .

XIII

No part in aught they hope or fear!
No heaven with them, no hell!—and here,
No earth, not so much space as pens
My body in their worst of dens
But shall bear God and man my cry,
Lies—lies, again—and still, they lie!

poem by Robert Browning from Dramatic Romances and Lyrics (1845)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Childless Woman

O Mother of that heap of clay, so passive on your breast,
Now do you stare at death, woman, who yesterday were blest?
Now do you long to fare afar, and guide him on the way
Where he must wander all alone, his little feet astray?
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me seven and seven
The high God seals upon the brow,
And summons from his heaven.

Blest as a bride were you, woman, that time of years agone,
When love, giver of life, came close and led you to his throne.
And blest were you—have you forgot?—when through the moons of pain
The life love-given tugged at your heart and bound you with its chain.
But I now, but I now—
Seared by the high God's scorn—
Lives that will never come to birth
Body of me has borne.

And when the hour was come, woman, your dark and perilous hour,
When the twin spirits, Death and Life, clutched you with jealous power,
Rent by their war you lay half lost, until a baby's cry
Summoned you forth past world on world to sit with God on high.
But I now, but I now—
Never my baby's voice
Has called me forth from vales of woe
With seraphs to rejoice.

You in your arms have clasped him, woman, and fed him at your breast.
You sang him little songs at night, and lulled him to his rest.
The ages gone were yours then, and yours the years to be.
You gave him of your hope and saw the light no eye shall see.
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me born in dream
Cry out for robes of flesh; I see
Their wistful eyes agleam.

O mother of that heap of clay so passive on your breast—
Now do you stare at death, woman?—nay, peace, for you are blest.
Blest are you in your joy, woman, blest are you in your pain—
Once more he calls you past the worlds to sit. with God again.
But I now, but I now—
Sons of me nine and nine,
That looked on life and death with me,
Are neither God’s nor mine.

poem by Harriet Monroe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Arms Of Mine

They have always been here to hold you,
As they have and will till the end of time
And they will die to defend and protect you
They are; these arms of mine.
Though other Men arms are stronger
That have held you and protected you before,
But my arms, have always been there for you
As they have today, and will forever more.
When you have been in tears, you they held
When you needed help, they were there for you
When you were in trouble, your load they carried
Whatever you needed, for you they would do.
Though other arms have held you once before
Arms, that would give you a smile from a frown
Arms that were there, for your love and care
But mine would pick you up; when you are down.
Though they are flawed and not that strong
And they are here, for just one lifetime
Though others might laugh, when their eyes they past
But for you they're always here; These Arms Of Mine.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love Cannot Die

In crime and enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die,
Who say to us in slander's breath
That love belongs to sin and death.
From heaven it came on angel's wing
To bloom on earth, eternal spring;
In falsehood's enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die.

Twas born upon an angel's breast.
The softest dreams, the sweetest rest,
The brightest sun, the bluest sky,
Are love's own home and canopy.
The thought that cheers this heart of mine
Is that of love; love so divine
They sin who say in slander's breath
That love belongs to sin and death.

The sweetest voice that lips contain,
The sweetest thought that leaves the brain,
The sweetest feeling of the heart--
There's pleasure in its very smart.
The scent of rose and cinnamon
Is not like love remembered on;
In falsehood's enmity they lie
Who sin and tell us love can die.

poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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