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The Maid of Neidpath

O lovers’ eyes are sharp to see,
And lovers’ ears in hearing;
And love, in life’s extremity,
Can lend an hour of cheering.
Disease had been in Mary’s bower
And slow decay from mourning,
Though now she sits on Neidpath’s tower
To watch her Love’s returning.

All sunk and dim her eyes so bright,
Her form decay’d by pining,
Till through her wasted hand, at night,
You saw the taper shining.
By fits a sultry hectic hue
Across her cheek was flying;
By fits so ashy pale she grew
Her maidens thought her dying.

Yet keenest powers to see and hear
Seem’d in her frame residing;
Before the watch-dog prick’d his ear
She heard her lover’s riding;
Ere scarce a distant form was kenn’d
She knew and waved to greet him,
And o’er the battlement did bend
As on the wing to meet him.

He came—he pass’d—an heedless gaze
As o’er some stranger glancing:
Her welcome, spoke in faltering phrase,
Lost in his courser’s prancing—
The castle-arch, whose hollow tone
Returns each whisper spoken,
Could scarcely catch the feeble moan
Which told her heart was broken.

poem by Sir Walter Scott
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I Saw Thy Form in Youthful Prime

I saw thy form in youthful prime,
Nor thought that pale decay
Would steal before the steps of Time,
And waste its bloom away, Mary!
Yet still thy features wore that light,
Which fleets not with the breath;
And life ne'er look'd more truly bright
Than in thy smile of death, Mary!

As streams that run o'er golden mines,
Yet humbly, calmly glide,
Nor seem to know the wealth that shines
Within their gentle tide, Mary!
So veil'd beneath the simplest guise,
Thy radiant genius shone,
And that which charm'd all other eyes
Seem'd worthless in thy own, Mary!

If souls could always dwell above,
Thou ne'er hadst left that sphere;
Or could we keep the souls we love,
We ne'er had lost thee here, Mary!
Though many a gifted mind we meet,
Though fairest forms we see,
To live with them is far less sweet
Than to remember thee, Mary!

poem by Thomas Moore
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I See Lovers

I see lovers wherever I go
but they do not see me.
Their looks are just for each other
and I wonder how I can be
content without the eyes of a lover
shining for my sight?
I long for his heart to love me
and warm me in the night.

Nights are cold and lonely
and my thoughts are lonely too.
My lover, you're with another
and my heart is missing you.
I try to avert my eyes now
from wherever lovers are found.
For to see the happiness between them
makes me come unwound.

If only wishes could find their way
to reach you then you'd feel
what I'm feeling when you're not here
and what that does reveal.
A soul that's lost in a world of lovers
whose eyes don't look like mine.
I don't belong to that world anymore.
I belong where lovers pine.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Oriental Nosegay. By Pickersgill

THROUGH the light curtains came the perfumed air,
And flung them back and show'd a garden, where
The eye could just catch glimpses of those trees
Which send sweet messages upon the breeze
To lull a maiden's sleep, and fan her cheek,
When inward thoughts in outward blushes speak.
Bequeath's a silken couch, just fit to be
A snowy shrine for some fair deity;
And there a beauty rests, lovely as those
Enchanted visions haunting the repose
Of the young poet, when his eyelids shut
To dream that love they have but dream'd as yet;--
But dream'd! Alas, that love should ever be
A happiness but made for phantasie!
And flowers are by her side, and her dark eye
Seems as it read in them her destiny.
She knew whose hand had gather'd them, she knew
Whose sigh and touch were on their scent and hue.

Beautiful language! Love's peculiar, own,
But only to the spring and summer known.
Ah! little marvel in such clime and age
As that of our too earth-bound pilgrimage,
That we should daily hear that love is fled,
And hope grown pale, and lighted feelings dead.

Not for the cold, the careless to impart,
By such sweet signs, the silence of the heart:
But surely in the countries where the sun
Lights loveliness in all he shines upon,--
Where love is as a mystery and a dream,
One single flower upon life's troubled stream;
There, there, perchance, may the young bosom thrill,
Feeling and fancy linger with love still.

She look'd upon the blossoms, and a smile,
A twilight one, lit up her lip the while.
Surely her love is blest, no leaves are there
That aught of lover's misery declare.
True, 'mid them is that pale and pining flower,
Whose dim blue colour speaks an absent hour;
Yet it is nothing but that tender sorrow
Of those who part to-day to meet to-morrow:

For there are hope and constancy beside,
And are not these to happiness allied;
And yet upon that maiden's cheek is caught
A summer evening's shade of pensive thought,
As if these large soft eyes knew all their fate,
How the heart would its destiny create,--
At once too tender, and too passionate;--
Too made for happiness to be happy here,
An angel fetter'd to an earthly sphere.--
And those dark eyes, so large, so soft, so bright,
So clear as if their very tears were light;
They tell that destiny, art thou not one
To whom love will be like the summer sun
That feeds the diamond in the secret mine,
Then calls it from its solitude to shine,
And piece by piece be broken. Watch the bloom,
And mark its fading to an early tomb,
And read in the decay upon it stealing
Of thy own wasted hope and wither'd feeling,--
Ay, fitting messengers for love! as fair,
As quickly past as his own visions are;--
Fling, fling the flowers away!

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Elegy on a Lady, whom Grief for the Death of her Betrothed Killed

Assemble, all ye maidens, at the door,
And all ye loves, assemble; far and wide
Proclaim the bridal, that proclaimed before
Has been deferred to this late eventide:
For on this night the bride,
The days of her betrothal over,
Leaves the parental hearth for evermore;
To-night the bride goes forth to meet her lover.

Reach down the wedding vesture, that has lain
Yet all unvisited, the silken gown:
Bring out the bracelets, and the golden chain
Her dearer friends provided: sere and brown
Bring out the festal crown,
And set it on her forehead lightly:
Though it be withered, twine no wreath again;
This only is the crown she can wear rightly.

Cloak her in ermine, for the night is cold,
And wrap her warmly, for the night is long;
In pious hands the flaming torches hold,
While her attendants, chosen from among

Her faithful virgin throng,
May lay her in her cedar litter,
Decking her coverlet with sprigs of gold,
Roses, and lilies white that best befit her.

Sound flute and tabor, that the bridal be
Not without music, nor with these alone;
But let the viol lead the melody,
With lesser intervals, and plaintive moan
Of sinking semitone;
And, all in choir, the virgin voices
Rest not from singing in skilled harmony
The song that aye the bridegroom's ear rejoices.

Let the priests go before, arrayed in white,
And let the dark-stoled minstrels follow slow,
Next they that bear her, honoured on this night,
And then the maidens, in a double row,
Each singing soft and low,
And each on high a torch upstaying:
Unto her lover lead her forth with light,
With music, and with singing, and with praying.

'Twas at this sheltering hour he nightly came,
And found her trusty window open wide,
And knew the signal of the timorous flame,
That long the restless curtain would not hide
Her form that stood beside;
As scarce she dared to be delighted,
Listening to that sweet tale, that is no shame
To faithful lovers, that their hearts have plighted.

But now for many days the dewy grass
Has shown no markings of his feet at morn:
And watching she has seen no shadow pass
The moonlit walk, and heard no music borne
Upon her ear forlorn.
In vain she has looked out to greet him;
He has not come, he will not come, alas!
So let us bear her out where she must meet him.

Now to the river bank the priests are come:
The bark is ready to receive its freight:
Let some prepare her place therein, and some
Embark the litter with its slender weight:
The rest stand by in state,
And sing her a safe passage over;
While she is oared across to her new home,
Into the arms of her expectant lover.

And thou, O lover, that art on the watch,
Where, on the banks of the forgetful streams,
The pale indifferent ghosts wander, and snatch
The sweeter moments of their broken dreams,--
Thou, when the torchlight gleams,
When thou shalt see the slow procession,
And when thine ears the fitful music catch,
Rejoice, for thou art near to thy possession.

poem by Robert Seymour Bridges
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When We Two Parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow—
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame:
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o'er me—
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well:
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met—
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.

poem by Byron (1808)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Stars were Bright that Night

The stars were bright that night

The first time we meet

Kisses will be reserved

Arms will be waiting when we greet

Hearts will be pounding upon thine chest

Touching intimately as we entwine

Breaths softly caress each cheek

The wonder of the first sweet touch

The wonder of love

We give from the heart

Then lips meet for the first time

Attentively shy they brush

As they catch each other's breath

The shock of warmth that shivers to the bone

Sends the warmth of love right to the heart and soul

They stand for eternity lost in their world as people pass by

Softly he whisper ‘At last we meet, how are you my love and smiles in her eyes

Shyly she smiles as he leans to kiss her head and looks adoringly as she says ‘Yes'

Then hand in hand they explore the beach, and talk about their future as husband and wife

©Copyright Kaila George 2012

poem by Kaila George
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Mariana In The South

With one black shadow at its feet,
The house thro' all the level shines,
Close-latticed to the brooding heat,
And silent in its dusty vines:
A faint-blue ridge upon the right,
An empty river-bed before,
And shallows on a distant shore,
In glaring sand and inlets bright.
But "Aye Mary," made she moan,
And "Aye Mary," night and morn,
And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone,
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

She, as her carol sadder grew,
From brow and bosom slowly down
Thro' rosy taper fingers drew
Her streaming curls of deepest brown
To left and right, and made appear,
Still-lighted in a secret shrine,
Her melancholy eyes divine,
The home of woe without a tear.
And "Aye Mary," was her moan,
"Madonna, sad is night and morn;"
And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone,
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

Till all the crimson changed, and past
Into deep orange o'er the sea,
Low on her knees herself she cast,
Before Our Lady murmur'd she:
Complaining, "Mother, give me grace
To help me of my weary load."
And on the liquid mirror glow'd
The clear perfection of her face.
"Is this the form," she made her moan,
"That won his praises night and morn?"
And "Ah," she said, "but I wake alone,
I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn."

Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,
Nor any cloud would cross the vault,
But day increased from heat to heat,
On stony drought and steaming salt;
Till now at noon she slept again,
And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass,
And heard her native breezes pass,
And runlets babbling down the glen.
She breathed in sleep a lower moan,
And murmuring, as at night and morn
She thought, "My spirit is here alone,
Walks forgotten, and is forlorn."

Dreaming, she knew it was a dream:
She felt he was and was not there.
She woke: the babble of the stream
Fell, and, without, the steady glare
Shrank one sick willow sere and small.
The river-bed was dusty-white;
And all the furnace of the light
Struck up against the blinding wall.
She whisper'd, with a stifled moan
More inward than at night or morn,
"Sweet Mother, let me not here alone
Live forgotten and die forlorn."

And, rising, from her bosom drew
Old letters, breathing of her worth,
For "Love", they said, "must needs be true,
To what is loveliest upon earth."
An image seem'd to pass the door,
To look at her with slight, and say,
"But now thy beauty flows away,
So be alone for evermore."
"O cruel heart," she changed her tone,
"And cruel love, whose end is scorn,
Is this the end to be left alone,
To live forgotten, and die forlorn?"

But sometimes in the falling day
An image seem'd to pass the door,
To look into her eyes and say,
"But thou shalt be alone no more."
And flaming downward over all
From heat to heat the day decreased,
And slowly rounded to the east
The one black shadow from the wall.
"The day to night," she made her moan,
"The day to night, the night to morn,
And day and night I am left alone
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

At eve a dry cicala sung,
There came a sound as of the sea;
Backward the lattice-blind she flung,
And lean'd upon the balcony.
There all in spaces rosy-bright
Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears,
And deepening thro' the silent spheres
Heaven over Heaven rose the night.
And weeping then she made her moan,
"The night comes on that knows not morn,
When I shall cease to be all alone,
To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Growing Old Together

To be like them who all would envy
To know a love that snared two hearts
To feel that love while in their presence
To wonder how such true love starts

To hear it in in their conversation
To catch it when their voices rise
To see it in her softest gesture
and in the twinkle of his eyes

To see them slowly walk together
To see him reach out for her hand
A habit born from years of caring
Is more than most can understand

To see two lives so wrapped together
Two hearts merged and so aligned
Where thoughts are shared before they're spoken
When mind and soul are intertwined

To watch them look upon each other
and know they see beyond the years
They see with eyes of two young lovers
Filled with the joy of lovers tears

All wonder where such true love started
Not coincidence, but sacrifice
God was there in their chance meeting
When two would choose to pay one price

Behind this love is certain knowledge
True love only can be won
When there's unconditional surrender
To give all for the other one.

poem by Perry Biggerstaff
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Sonnet 06

(to a brook near the village of Corston.)

As thus I bend me o'er thy babbling stream
And watch thy current, Memory's hand pourtrays
The faint form'd scenes of the departed days,
Like the far forest by the moon's pale beam
Dimly descried yet lovely. I have worn
Upon thy banks the live-long hour away,
When sportive Childhood wantoned thro' the day,
Joy'd at the opening splendour of the morn,
Or as the twilight darken'd, heaved the sigh
Thinking of distant home; as down my cheek
At the fond thought slow stealing on, would speak
The silent eloquence of the full eye.
Dim are the long past days, yet still they please
As thy soft sounds half heard, borne on the inconstant breeze.

poem by Robert Southey
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Song. Good Counsel to a Young Maid

GAZE not on thy beauty's pride,
Tender maid, in the false tide
That from lovers' eyes doth slide.
Let thy faithful crystal show
How thy colours come and go :
Beauty takes a foil from woe.

Love, that in those smooth streams lies
Under pity's fair disguise,
Will thy melting heart surprise.

Nets of passion's finest thread,
Snaring poems, will be spread,
All to catch thy maidenhead.

Then beware ! for those that cure
Love's disease, themselves endure
For reward a calenture.

Rather let the lover pine,
Than his pale cheek should assign
A perpetual blush to thine.

poem by Thomas Carew
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Come To Me When I'm Dying

A SONG.

Come to me when I'm dying;
Gaze on my wasted form,
Tired with so long defying
Life's ever-rushing storm.
Come, come when I am dying,
And stand beside my bed,
Ere yet my soul is flying,
And I am cold and dead.

Bend low and lower o'er me,
For I've a word to say
Though death is just before me,
Ere I can go away.
Now that my soul is hovering
Upon the verge of day,
For thee I'll lift the covering
That veils its quivering ray.

O, ne'er had I thus spoken
In health's bright, rosy glow!
But death my pride hath broken,
And brought my spirit low.
Though now this last revealing
Quickens life's curdling springs,
And a half-timid feeling
Faint flushes o'er me flings.

Bend lower yet above me,
For I would have thee know
How passing well I love thee,
And joy to tell thee so.
This love, so purely welling
Up in this heart of mine,
O, hath it e'er found dwelling
Within thy spirit's shrine?

I've prayed my God, in meekness,
To give me some control
Over this earthly weakness
That so enthralled my soul;
And now my soul rejoices
While sweetly-thrilling strains,
From low, harmonious voices,
Soothe all my dying pains.

They sing of the Eternal,
Whose throne is far above,
Where zephyrs softly vernal
Float over bowers of love;
Of hopes and joys, earth-blighted,
Blooming 'neath cloudless skies,
Of hearts and souls united
In love that never dies.

'Tis there, 'tis there I'll meet thee
When life's brief day is o'er;
O, with what joy to greet thee
On that eternal shore!
Farewell! for death is chilling
My pulses swift and fast;
And yet in God I'm willing
This hour should be my last.

Sometimes, when day declineth,
And all the gorgeous west
In gold and purple shineth,
Go to my place of rest;
And if thy voice in weeping,
Is borne upon the air,
Think not of me as sleeping;
All cold and silent there:--

But turn, with glances tender,
Toward a shining star,
Whose rays with chastened splendor
Fall on thee from afar.
And know the blissful dwelling
Where I am waiting thee,
When Jordan fiercely swelling
Shall set thy spirit free.

poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The Dying Hour

I.

OH! watch me; watch me still
Thro' the long night's dreary hours,
Uphold by thy firm will
Worn Nature's sinking powers!
II.

While yet thy face is there
(The loose locks round it flying),
So young, and fresh, and fair,
I feel not I am dying!
III.

Stoop down, and kiss my brow!
The shadows round me closing
Warn me that dark and low
I soon shall be reposing.
IV.

But while those pitying eyes
Are bending thus above me,
In vain the death-dews rise,--
Thou dost regret and love me!
V.

Then watch me thro' the night,
Thro' my broken, fitful slumber;
By the pale lamp's sickly light
My dying moments number!
VI.

Thy fond and patient smile
Shall soothe my painful waking;
Thy voice shall cheer me while
The slow grey dawn is breaking!
VII.

The battle-slain, whose thirst
No kindly hand assuages,
Whose low faint farewells burst
Unheard, while combat rages,--
VIII.

The exiled, near whose bed
Some vision'd form seems weeping,
Whose steps shall never tread
The land where he lies sleeping,--
IX.

The drown'd, whose parting breath
Is caught by wild winds only,--
Theirs is the bitter death,
Beloved, for they die lonely!
X.

But thus, tho' rack'd, to lie,
Thou near, tho' full of sadness,
Leaves still, e'en while I die,
A lingering gleam of gladness!
XI.

I feel not half my pain
When to mine thy fond lip presses,--
I warm to life again
Beneath thy soft caresses!
XII.

Once more, oh! yet once more
Fling, fling thy white arms round me,
As oft in days of yore
Their gentle clasp hath bound me;
XIII.

And hold me to that breast
Which heaves so full with sorrow--
Who knows where I may rest
In the dark and blank to-morrow?
XIV.

Ah! weep not--it shall be
An after-thought to cheer thee,
That while mine eyes could see,
And while mine ears could hear thee--
XV.

Thy voice and smile were still
The spells on which I doated,
And thou, through good and ill,
To me and mine devoted!
XVI.

And calmly by my tomb,
When the low bright day declineth,
And athwart the cypress gloom
The mellow sunset shineth,--
XVII.

Thou'lt sit and think of Him,
Who, of Heaven's immortal splendour,
Had a dream on earth, though dim,
In thy love so pure and tender,--
XVIII.

Who scarcely feels thy touch,--
Whom thy voice can rouse no longer,--
But whose love on earth was such,
That only death was stronger.
XIX.

Yes, sit, but not in tears!
Thine eyes in faith uplifting,
From thy lot of changeful years,
To the Heaven where naught is shifting.
XX.

From this world, where all who love
Are doomed alike to sever,
To the glorious realms above,
Where they dwell in peace for ever!
XXI.

And then such hope shall beam
From the grave where I lie sleeping,
This bitter hour shall seem
Too vague and far for weeping--
XXII.

And grief--ah! hold me now!
My fluttering pulse is failing,--
The death-dews chill my brow,--
The morning light is paling!
XXIII.

I seek thy gaze in vain,--
Earth reels and fades before me;
I die!--but feel no pain,--
Thy sweet face shining o'er me!

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Ben Boyd's Tower

Ben Boyd's Tower is watching—
Watching o’er the sea;
Ben Boyd’s Tower is waiting
For her and me.
We do not know the day,
We do not know the hour,
But we know that we shall meet
By Ben Boyd’s Tower.

Moonlight peoples Boyd Tower,
Mystic are its walls;
Lightly dance the lovers
In its haunted halls.

Ben Boyd’s Tower is watching—
Watching o’er the foam;
Ben Boyd’s Tower is waiting
Till the “Wanderer” comes home.

O! he lay above us—
High above the surf—
Finger-nails and toe-caps
Digging in the turf.

We do not know the day,
We do not know the hour,
But Two and Two shall meet again
By Ben Boyd’s Tower.

There’s an ancient dame in Eden—
Basket on her arm—
And she goes down the Main Street
From the old, old farm.

Hood drawn on her forehead—
Withered dame and grey—
She never looks on Boyd Tower
Out across the Bay.

Bright eyes in the ballroom,
Coquetting with two,
Just for love of mischief,
As a girl will do.
A quarrel in the bar-room—
All within the hour—
And four men rode from Boyd Town
To Ben Boyd’s Tower.

poem by Henry Lawson
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Kiss Me Softly

Theres a state of grace that happens every day
Its a feeling I thought lost of locked away
Another question to an answer that I know
Oh, are you coming home, coming home for sure
Id walk a thousand miles, just to hear you calling out my name
Chorus:
Kiss me softly kiss me slowly
I get lost in you like only lovers do
Hold me closer love me tender
I get swept away like only lovers do
Youve awakened something deep inside my soul
And every moment, every breath I feel it more
Your hidden treasures that you keep down deep inside
We make love freely as we watch the new sunrise
Id live a thousand lives if every one I loved could be with you
Repeat chours
Id live a thousand lives
If every one I loved could be with you...
Repeat chorus 2x
Only lovers, only lovers, only lovers do
Only lovers, only lovers, only lovers do
Only lovers, only lovers, only lovers do
Only lovers, only lovers, only lovers do

song performed by by Journey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hello Mary Lou

Hello mary lou, goodbye heart,
Sweet mary lou, Im so in love with you
I knew mary lou, wed never part
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
Passed me by one sunny day, flashed those big brown eyes my way
And oo I wanted you forever more
Im not one that gets around, swear my feet stuck to the ground
And though I never did meet you before
I said hello mary lou, goodbye heart,
Sweet mary lou, Im so in love with you
I knew mary lou, wed never part
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
Saw your lips I heard your voice, believe me I just had no choice,
Wild horses couldnt make me stay away.
Thought about a moonlit night, my arms around you good an tight,
Thats all I had to see for me to say.
Hey, hey, hello mary lou, goodbye heart,
Sweet mary lou, Im so in love with you
I knew mary lou, wed never part
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
Yes, hello mary lou, goodbye heart.

song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lucy and Colin

Of Leinster, fam'd for maidens fair,
Bright Lucy was the grace;
Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream
Reflect so fair a face,

Till luckless love and pining care
Impair'd her rosy hue,
Her coral lip, and damask cheek,
And eyes of glossy blue.

Oh! have you seen a lily pale,
When beating rains descend?
So droop'd the slow-consuming maid;
Her life now near its end.

By Lucy warn'd, of flattering swains
Take heed, ye easy fair!
Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Ye perjured swains, beware!

Three times, all in the dead of night,
A bell was heard to ring;
And at her window, shrieking thrice,
The raven flap'd his wing.

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew
That solemn boding sound;
And thus, in dying words, bespoke
The virgins weeping round.

'I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Which says, I must not stay;
I see a hand you cannot see,
Which beckons me away.

'By a false heart and broken vows,
In early youth, I die.
Am I to blame, because his bride
Is thrice as rich as I?

'Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,
Vows due to me alone.
Nor tho, fond maid, receive his kiss,
Nor think him all thy own.

'To-morrow in the church to wed,
Impatient, both prepare;
But know, fond maid, and know, false man,
That Lucy will be there.

'Then bear my corse, ye comrades, bear,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
I in my winding-sheet.'

She spoke, she died; - her corse was borne,
The bridegroom blithe to meet;
He in his wedding-trim so gay,
She in her winding-sheet.

Then what were perjur'd Colin's thoughts?
How were those nuptials kept?
The bride-men flock'd round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,
At once his bosom swell;
The damps of death bedew'd his brow,
He shook, he groan'd, he fell.

From the vain bride (ah, bride no more!)
The varying crimson fled,
When, stretch'd before her rival's corse,
She saw her husband dead.

Then to his Lucy's new-made grave,
Convey'd by trembling swains,
One mould with her, beneath one sod,
For ever now remains.

Oft at their grave the constant hind
And plighted maid are seen;
With garlands gay and true-love knots
They deck the sacred green.

But, swain forsworn, whoe'er thou art,
This hallow'd spot forbear;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,
And fear to meet him there.

poem by Thomas Tickell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Color is Love?

From practical perspective
Love may be viewed as colorless
When romantically reflective
Color spectrum Love does possess

To couples just discovering it’s laurels
Love is yellow like the sun shining bright
To lovers who have engaged in quarrels
Love is deep blue like a sky late at night

In eyes of lovers enjoying honeymoon precursories
Love appears red as hearts gracing valentines
To lovers working together to overcome life’s adversities
Love holds evergreen hues like cypress and pines
For lovers celebrating wedding anniversaries
Love glows gold in rings where diamond luster shines

Love can be soft and swirling
As on paisley patterned gowns
Or calliope colors twirling
Like parades entering towns

Love’s colors can sometimes be muted
Like the softness of gray skies
Love’s vibrancy briefly diluted
Whenever a loved one dies

Where there isn’t quite enough Love
Life is pencil lines decidedly frail
Where there is total lack of Love
Life may appear as colorless and pale

Where Love is most plenteous
Life appears to be increasingly colorful
And when shared between lovers like us
Love reveals the colors, which are most beautiful

poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lover reunited beneath the sea bay of seashore

Lover reunited beneath the sea bay of seashore

Failing of purposed of love shall there be
Shall be a victims when lovers has lost be apart, a mourning of love, Love shall never dies

If so the death come feelings shall not dies too, Touché when the lips kiss in-depth of heart of silent
Kisses a wordless a pound the voiceless lover sit of falling asleep under the stars of the night blue sea of ocean beneath the foot of two lover reunited stand

A slash of tears as it mourning of crying soul of his she cries he heard and felt it too beneath his soul they both knew they very much in love. Hearing the waves which calms the soul
Tours de force performance amore acted of love which standing still, A touchingly beneath two lovers like the sea of ocean which apart a kisses eager beneath the sandpit of the bay sea of shore of night blue sea waves

BY: PUTRI MISNIA SHARY BAHRI
Done in late 21st of September breezes 9: 30am fallen in late morning of the day expressing love like shapkspear in love a tale in a modern way u shall try to understanding in words of refinancing which I try Put it in 

poem by Putri Misnia Shary Bahri
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lalla Rookh

"How sweetly," said the trembling maid,
Of her own gentle voice afraid,
So long had they in silence stood,
Looking upon that tranquil flood--
"How sweetly does the moon-beam smile
To-night upon yon leafy isle!
Oft in my fancy's wanderings,
I've wish'd that little isle had wings,
And we, within its fairy bow'rs,
Were wafted off to seas unknown,
Where not a pulse should beat but ours,
And we might live, love, die alone!
Far from the cruel and the cold,--
Where the bright eyes of angels only
Should come around us, to behold
A paradise so pure and lonely.
Would this be world enough for thee?"--
Playful she turn'd, that he might see
The passing smile her cheek put on;
But when she mark'd how mournfully
His eyes met hers, that smile was gone;
And, bursting into heart-felt tears,
"Yes, yes," she cried, "my hourly fears
My dreams have boded all too right--
We part--for ever part--to-night!
I knew, I knew it could not last--
'Twas bright, 'twas heav'nly, but 'tis past!
Oh! ever thus, from childhood's hour,
I've seen my fondest hopes decay;
I never lov'd a tree or flow'r,
But 'twas the first to fade away.
I never nurs'd a dear gazelle
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But when it came to know me well
And love me, it was sure to die!
Now too--the joy most like divine
Of all I ever dreamt or knew,
To see thee, hear thee, call thee mine,--
Oh misery! must I lose that too?
Yet go--on peril's brink we meet;--
Those frightful rocks--that treach'rous sea--
No, never come again--though sweet,
Though heav'n, it may be death to thee.
Farewell--and blessings on thy way,
Where'er thou goest, beloved stranger!
Better to sit and watch that ray,
And think thee safe, though far away,
Than have thee near me, and in danger!"

poem by Thomas Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Abandoned

SHE sat by the wayside and wept, where roses, red roses and white,
Lay wasted and withered and sere, like her life and its ruined delight;
Like chaff blown about in the wind whirled roses, white roses and red,
And pale, on night's threshold, the moon bent over the day that was dead.

She sat by the wayside and wept; far over the desolate plain
A noise as of one that is weeping re-echoed in wind and in rain,
And the long dim line of the spectral poplars with dolorous wail
Nodded their bald-headed tops as they chattered with cold in the gale.

She sat by the wayside and wept in a passion of vain desire,
And her weak heart fluttered and failed like the flame of a faltering fire,
Fluttered and failed in her breast like the broken wing of a bird
When its feathers are dabbled with gore, and the low last gurgle is heard.

And behold, like balm on her soul, while she sat by the wayside and wept,
There came a forgetting of sorrow, a lulling of grief, and she slept;
Yea, like the wings of a dove when cooing it broods on the nest,
So the wings of slumber about her assuaged and filled her with rest.

And a light that was not the sun's nor the moon's light illumined her brain;
From afar in the country of dreams three maidens stole over the plain,
Three loveliest maidens they were, like roses, red roses and white;
And behold the earth and the heavens were glorified in their light.

And the first of the maidens was fair, as fair as the blue-kirtled Spring,
When she comes with a snowfall of blossoms and a rustling of birds on the wing,
When a glimmer of green like a tide rolls over the woodland and vales,
And odours are blown on the winds with the song of the nightingales.

The second was loftier of stature, a huntress of grief;
The wilderness glowed as she passed and broke into blossom and leaf;
Yea, it seemed that her upturned eyes, with their fathomless gaze,
Could pierce to the shining stars through the veil of the noonday blaze.

But the third was a splendour incarnate, a luminous form,
Thrilling with raptures that keep the heart of the cold earth warm,
Who hidden far in the mystical glory of quivering rays
Sets the whole world on fire for an absolute sight of her face.

But darkling ever they see her, and ever as through a veil,
For if naked she lightens upon them, their lives must shrivel and fail,
Must fail and shrivel consumed by that burst of insufferable light,
As a tree set on fire by lightning which burns to the ground in a night.

The first one kissed her cheek, her cheek grew pallid and wan:
'Goodbye,' she cried, 'we must part; I am Youth, and I follow the sun;
I am Youth, and I love to build in the heart that is buoyant and gay;
Goodbye, we shall meet not again,' she cried, as she fluttered away.

The second she kissed her eyes, then the glamour went out of their gaze,
Through the magical show she beheld life staring her straight in the face;
With a terrible Gorgon stare that turned her heart into stone--
'Adieu,' she sighed, 'I am Hope, all is over between us and done.'
The third one she kissed her lips, and the kiss was a quenchless fire,
It burned up her life like a victim's in the flames of a funeral pyre--
'Farewell,' she wailed, 'I am Love,' and her wings were spread as for flight--
It seemed like the wail of the wind as they left her alone with the night.

poem by Mathilde Blind
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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