The Happy Husband
Oft, oft, methinks, the while with thee
I breathe, as from the heart, thy dear
And dedicated bame, I hear
A promise and a mystery,
A pledge of more than passing life,
Yea, in that very name of wife!
A pulse of love that ne'er can sleep!
A feeling that upbraids the heart
With happiness beyond desert,
That gladness half requests to weep!
Nor bless I not the keener sense
And unalarming turbulence.
Of transient joys, that ask no sting
From jealous fears, or coy denying;
But born beneath Love's brooding wing,
And into tenderness soon dying.
Wheel out their giddy moment, then
Resign the soul to love again;
A more precipitated vein
Of notes that eddy in the flow
Of smoothest song, they come, they go,
And leave their sweeter understrain
Its own sweet self-a love of thee
That seems, yet cannot greater be!
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Serenade
Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep;
And yet while I address thee now,
Methinks thou smilest in thy sleep.
'Tis sweet enough to make me weep,
That tender thought of love and thee,
That while the world is hush'd so deep,
Thy soul's perhaps awake to me!
Sleep on, sleep on, sweet bride of sleep!
With golden visions of thy dower,
While I this midnight vigil keep,
And bless thee in thy silent bower;
To me 'tis sweeter than the power
Of sleep, and fairy dreams unfurl'd,
That I alone, at this still hour,
In patient love outwatch the world.
poem by Thomas Hood
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I Love Thee
I love thee—I love thee!
'Tis all that I can say;—
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee—I love thee!
Is all that I can say.
I love thee—I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee—I love thee!
A thousand maids among.
I love thee—I love thee!
Thy bright hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance;
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance,
I love thee—I love thee!
Whatever be thy chance.
poem by Thomas Hood
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A Woman's Complaint
I know that deep within your heart of hearts
You hold me shrined apart from common things,
And that my step, my voice, can bring to you
A gladness that no other pleasure brings.
And yet, dear love, through all the weary days
You never speak one word of tenderness,
Nor stroke my hair, nor softly clasp my hand
Within your own in loving mute caress.
You think, perhaps, I should be all content
To know so well the loving place I hold
Within your life, and so you do not dream
How much I long to hear the story told.
You cannot know, when we two sit alone,
And tranquil thoughts within your mind are stirred,
My heart is crying like a tire child
For one fond look, one gentle, loving word.
It may be when your eyes look into mine
You only say, 'How dear she is to me!'
Oh, could I read it in you softened glance.
How radiant this plain world would be!
Perhaps, sometimes, you breathe a secret prayer
That choicest blessings unto me be given;
But if you said aloud, 'God bless thee, dear!'
I should not ask a greater boon from Heaven.
I weary sometimes of the rugged way;
But should you say, 'Through thee my life is sweet,'
The dreariest desert that our path could cross
Would suddenly grow green beneath my feet.
'Tis not the boundless waters ocean holds
That give refreshment to the thirsty flowers,
But just the drops that, rising to the skies,
From thence descend in softly falling showers.
What matter that our granaries are filled
With all the richest harvest's golden stores,
If we who own them cannot enter in,
But famished stand before the close-barred doors?
And so 'tis sad that those who should be rich
In that true love that crowns our earthly lot,
Go praying with white lips from day to day
For love's sweet tokens, and receive them not.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Go Where Glory Waits Thee
Go where glory waits thee,
But while fame elates thee,
Oh! still remember me.
When the praise thou meetest
To thine ear is sweetest,
Oh! then remember me.
Other arms may press thee,
Dearer friends caress thee,
All the joys that bless thee,
Sweeter far may be;
But when friends are nearest,
And when joys are dearest,
Oh! then remember me!
When, at eve, thou rovest
By the star thou lovest,
Oh! then remember me.
Think, when home returning,
Bright we've seen it burning,
Oh! thus remember me.
Oft as summer closes,
When thine eye reposes
On its lingering roses,
Once so loved by thee,
Think of her who wove them,
Her who made thee love them,
Oh! then remember me.
When, around thee dying,
Autumn leaves are lying,
Oh! then remember me.
And, at night, when gazing
On the gay hearth blazing,
Oh! still remember me.
Then should music, stealing
All the soul of feeling,
To thy heart appealing,
Draw one tear from thee;
Then let memory bring thee
Strains I used to sing thee, --
Oh! then remember me.
poem by Thomas Moore
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A Hymn
While thee I seek, protecting Power!
Be my vain wishes still'd;
And may this consecrated hour
With better hopes be fill'd.
Thy love the powers of thought bestow'd,
To thee my thoughts would soar;
Thy mercy o'er my life has flow'd-
That mercy I adore.
In each event of life, how clear,
Thy ruling hand I see;
Each blessing to my soul more dear,
Because conferr'd by thee.
In every joy that crowns my days,
In every pain I bear,
My heart shall find delight in praise,
Or seek relief in prayer.
When gladness wings my favour'd hour,
Thy love my thoughts shall fill:
Resign'd, when storms of sorrow lower,
My soul shall meet thy will.
My lifted eye without a tear
The lowring storm shall see;
My stedfast heart shall know no fear-
That heart will rest on Thee!
poem by Helen Maria Williams
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Silence (Part I)
Sometimes I see you as my child,
Sometimes I see you as my sweetheart,
And when I look into your eyes,
I see that tender and sweet smile,
And I want to say what’s in my heart,
And I want to tell you how I feel,
But my voice remains there, still,
And I just stare at your loving face,
And let the love from my heart,
Flow like a wild river in furious race,
to enfold your sweet and pure soul
with a sea of love and tenderness.
Sometimes there’s so much to say,
but nothing flows from my lips,
And only silence is there to stay,
And only the silence I should keep,
Because what I had to say was already said,
How words could express
never-ending love and tenderness?
How could I just say at one time,
I love you more than my own life?
And there remains the deep silence,
Silence and more silence,
to signal that divine presence,
of my silent love; my heart’s essence.
But this silence is not empty silence,
when divine love fills all my senses,
when nature’s beauty colours your soul,
and fades away all pity and woe.
Because when there is silence,
you can hear the silent language,
the heavenly music of my heart’s song,
God’s eternal music He’s been playing all along,
And in that silence you’ll hear my song,
The endless tune that my love sings,
with the sweetest notes in your luscious dreams,
which eternally flow like endless streams.
(2009)
poem by Roberto Echanes
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Love Songs
I
I LOVE my life, but not too well
To give it to thee like a flower,
So it may pleasure thee to dwell
Deep in its perfume but an hour.
I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well
To sing it note by note away,
So to thy soul the song may tell
The beauty of the desolate day.
I love my life, but not too well.
I love my life, but not too well
To cast it like a cloak on thine,
Against the storms that sound and swell
Between thy lonely heart and mine.
I love my life, but not too well.
II
Your love is like a blue, blue wave
The little rainbows play in.
Your love is like a mountain cave
Cool shadows darkly stay in.
It thrills me like great gales at war,
It soothes like softest singing.
It bears me where clear rivers are,
With reeds and rushes swinging;
Or out to pearly shores afar
Where temple bells are ringing.
III
And is it pain to you
That we must love and part?
Ah, if you only knew
The gladness in my heart!
Love is enough. Each day
I look upon the sun,
He loves me! I shall say,
Now is my life begun.
He loves me! Every night,
On the dark verge of sleep,
The rapture will alight
And to my bosom creep.
Peace, for I should not dare
A keener joy implore.
My soul shall feel no care—
Until you love no more.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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To Isa in Heaven
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven! — Young.
Where is she now?
Oh! Isa! tell me where thou art?
If death has laid his hand upon thy brow,
Has he not touched my heart?
Has he not laid it in the grave with thine,
And buried all my joys?—Speak! thou art mine!
If thou were dead,
I would not ask thee to reply;
But thou art living—thy dear soul has fled
To heaven, where it can never die!
Then why not come to me? Return—return
And comfort me, for I have much to mourn!
I sigh all day!
I mourn for thee the livelong night!
And when the next night comes, thou art away,
And so is absent my delight!
Oh! as the lone dove for his absent mate,
So is my soul for thee disconsolate!
I long for death—
For any thing—to be with thee!
I did inhale, alas! thy dying breath,
That it might have some power on me
To make me what thou art!—but, thou art dead!
And I am here!—it strengthened me instead!
Joy there is none—
It went into the grave with thee!
And grief, because my spirit is alone,
Is all that comes to comfort me!
The very air I breathe is turned to sighs,
And all mine soul is melting from mine eyes!
I hear, at even,
The liquid carol of birds;
Their music makes me think of thee in heaven,
It is so much like thy sweet words.
The brooklet whispers, as it runs along,
Our first love-story with its liquid tongue.
Wake, Isa! wake!
And come back in this world again!
Oh! come down to me, for my soul's dear sake,
And cure me of this trying pain!
I would give all that earth to man can be,
If thou wert only in this world with me!
Day after day
I seek thee, but thou art not near!
I sit down on thy grave in the cold clay,
And listen for thy soul!—oh! dear!
And when some withered leaf falls from the tree,
I start as if thy soul had spoke to me!
And so it is,
And so it ever more must ever be
To him, who has been robbed of all the bliss
He ever knew, by loving thee!
For misery, in thine absence, is my wife!
What joy had been, hadst thou remained in life!
It is now even;
The birds have sung themselves to sleep;
And all the stars seem coming out of heaven,
As if to look upon me weep!—
Oh! let me not look up to thee in vain,
But come back to me in this world again!
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1842)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Worn Out
Thy strong arms are around me, love
My head is on thy breast;
Low words of comfort come from thee
Yet my soul has no rest.
For I am but a startled thing
Nor can I ever be
Aught save a bird whose broken wing
Must fly away from thee.
I cannot give to thee the love
I gave so long ago,
The love that turned and struck me down
Amid the blinding snow.
I can but give a failing heart
And weary eyes of pain,
A faded mouth that cannot smile
And may not laugh again.
Yet keep thine arms around me, love,
Until I fall to sleep;
Then leave me, saying no goodbye
Lest I might wake, and weep.
poem by Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
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I Leave Thee for Awhile
I leave thee for awhile, my love, I leave thee with a sigh;
The fountain spring within my soul is playing in mine eye;
I do not blush to own the tear,--let, let it touch my cheek,
And what my lip has failed to tell, that drop perchance may speak.
Mavourneen! when again I seek my green isle in the West,
Oh, promise thou wilt share my lot, and set this heart at rest.
I leave thee for awhile, my love; but every hour will be
Uncheered and lonely till the one that brings me back to thee.
I go to make my riches more; but where is man to find
A vein of gold so rich and pure as that I leave behind?
Mavourneen! though my home might be the fairest earth possessed,
Till thou wouldst share and make it warm, this heart would know no rest.
I leave thee for awhile, my love; my cheek is cold and white,
But ah, I see a promise stand within thy glance of light;
When next I seek old, Erin's shore, thy step will bless it too,
And then the grass will seem more green, the sky will have more blue.
Mavourneen! first and dearest loved, there's sunshine in my breast,
For thou wilt share my future lot, and set this heart at rest.
poem by Eliza Cook
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Hawaiian Wedding Song
(words & music by king - hoffman - manning)
This is the moment
Ive waited for
I can hear my heart singing
Soon bells will be ringing
This is the moment
Of sweet aloha
I will love you longer than forever
Promise me that you will leave me never
Here and now dear,
All my love,
I vow dear
Promise me that you will leave me never
I will love you longer than forever
U-a, si-la
Pa-a ia me o-e
Ko a-lo-ha ma-ka-mea e i-po
Ka-u ia e le-i a-e ne-i la
Now that we are one
Clouds wont hide the sun
Blue skies of hawaii smile
On this, our wedding day
I do love you with all my heart
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The New-Born
A BLESSING on thy head, thou child of many hopes and fears!
A rainbow-welcome thine hath been, of mingled smiles and tears.
Thy father greets thee unto life, with a full and chasten'd heart,
For a solemn gift from God thou com'st, all precious as thou art!
I see thee not asleep, fair boy, upon thy mother's breast,
Yet well I know how guarded there shall be thy rosy rest;
And how her soul with love, and prayer, and gladness, will o'erflow,
While bending o'er thy soft-seal'd eyes, thou dear one, well I know!
A blessing on thy gentle head! and bless'd thou art in truth,
For a home where God is felt, awaits thy childhood and thy youth:
Around thee pure and holy thoughts shall dwell as light and air,
And steal unto thine heart, and wake the germs now folded there.
Smile on thy mother! while she feels that unto her is given,
In that young day-spring glance the pledge of a soul to rear for heaven!
Smile! and sweet peace be o'er thy sleep, joy o'er thy wakening shed!
Blessings and blessings evermore, fair boy! upon thy head.
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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Sonnet XLIII: How Do I Love Thee?
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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How Do I Love Thee? (Sonnet 43)
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of being and ideal grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for right.
I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Give Me Thy Heart
Give me thy heart, I leave thee mine;
But oh! till next our pulses meet,
May my fond spirit round thee shine,
Absorb thy soul and guide thy feet,
And then no more my passion pine,
My bosom idly beat.
I have thy pledge, yet take it back
If ever for a moment thou
In sweet resolve shouldst prove less slack
Than I, at parting, leave thee now.
Love's steady light must mark our track,
And not a flickering vow.
But if, when, past this parting ache,
I gaze upon thy face once more,
Thou still Love's burning thirst wouldst slake,
Still to Love's topmost heights wouldst soar;
Oh! then my life's full tide shall break
On thee, as on its shore.
poem by Alfred Austin
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Sonnet XLIII
How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Xliii
How do I love thee ? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,--I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life !--and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
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Morning Song Of Love
Darling, my darling, my heart is on the wing,
It flies to thee this morning like a bird,
Like happy birds in springtime my spirits soar and sing,
The same sweet song thine ears have often heard.
The sun is in my window, the shadow on the lea,
The wind is moving in the branches green,
And all my life, my darling, is turning unto thee,
And kneeling at thy feet, my own, my queen.
The golden bells are ringing across the distant hill,
Their merry peals come to me soft and clear,
But in my heart's deep chapel all incense-filled and still
A sweeter bell is sounding for thee, dear.
The bell of love invites thee to come and seek the shrine
Whose altar is erected unto thee,
The offerings, the sacrifice, the prayers, the chants are thine,
And I, my love, thy humble priest will be.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Thou Art My Lute
Thou art my lute, by thee I sing,--
My being is attuned to thee.
Thou settest all my words a-wing,
And meltest me to melody.
Thou art my life, by thee I live,
From thee proceed the joys I know;
Sweetheart, thy hand has power to give
The meed of love--the cup of woe.
Thou art my love, by thee I lead
My soul the paths of light along,
From vale to vale, from mead to mead,
And home it in the hills of song.
My song, my soul, my life, my all,
Why need I pray or make my plea,
Since my petition cannot fall;
For I 'm already one with thee!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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You Must Leave Me
YOU MUST LEAVE ME
You must leave me as I was before.
You must let me be at peace.
You must not hold on to my heart anymore.
My heart you must release.
Yes, I love thee like the sky loves the sun
and know that I always will.
Yes, I love thee like children love to run
with hearts that are racing still.
I cannot be left with just your voice
although it’s the voice I hear.
My needs are selfish where you’re concerned.
I need all of you, my dear.
I need your hands, your mouth, your smile,
your passion and your heart.
And since that’s near impossible
you must leave me. You must depart.
The music will change when you go.
No longer will melodies play
like they did when first we met, my love,
no longer on any day.
You must leave me as I was before,
despondent and not knowing why?
You must leave me now, my love and know
that I’ll love you until I die.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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