A VALENTINE
by William Cox Bennett

Gentle quiet of her eye,
To my asking deign reply;
By the impassioned day made bold,
Be thy hoarded secret told;
Or by trusting glance or fall
Of thy fluttering look from mine,
Dower my thought with hopes divine,
Hopes no coldness may recal;
Sweet betrayer, bid me see
If not in thy depths there be
Love thy coyness keeps from me.

Stainèd whiteness of her cheek
Quit thy fear and prithee speak,
All to-day should bid thee tell,
All that thou hast hid so well;
Through the day-dawn of a flush,
Dimpling ripple of a smile,
Oh, let watching love beguile
Thy sweet secret from its hush!
Give me, this sweet day, to know
If, thy rosy calm below,
Love lurk not, thou wilt not show.

Oh, thou music of her speech,
Leave thou meaner things and teach
Listening love the all he'd learn!
Give the enamoured air to burn
With thy sumless burdens; round,
Words half silence---many a tone
Caught by love's hushed ear alone,
Thoughts that tremble into sound,
Breathe!---Oh, utterance all divine,
Bid me know she would be mine---
That I am her valentine!



How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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.



If thou must love me, let it be for nought
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love's sake only. Do not say
"I love her for her smile---her look---her way
Of speaking gently,---for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day"---
For these things in themselves, Belovèd, may
Be changed, or change for thee,---and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,---
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love's sake, that evermore
Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.



Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Yet, love, mere love, is beautiful indeed
And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright,
Let temple burn, or flax; an equal light
Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed:
And love is fire. And when I say at need
I love thee . . . mark! . . . I love thee---in thy sight
I stand transfigured, glorified aright,
With conscience of the new rays that proceed
Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low
In love, when love the lowest: meanest creatures
Who love God, God accepts while loving so.
And what I feel, across the inferior features
Of what I am, doth flash itself, and show
How that great work of Love enhances Nature's.



Belovèd, thou hast brought me many flowers
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Belovèd, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart's ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here's eglantine,
Here's ivy!---take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul their roots are left in mine.



Indeed this very love which is my boast
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Indeed this very love which is my boast,
And which, when rising up from breast to brow,
Doth crown me with a ruby large enow
To draw men's eyes and prove the inner cost,---
This love even, all my worth, to the utter-most,
I should not love withal, unless that thou
Hadst set me an example, shown me how,
When first thine earnest eyes with mine were crossed,
And love called love. And thus, I cannot speak
Of love even, as a good thing of my own:
Thy soul hath snatched up mine all faint and weak,
And placed it by thee on a golden throne,---
And that I love (O soul, we must be meek!)
Is by thee only, whom I love alone.



Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Oh, yes! they love through all this world of ours!
I will not gainsay love, called love forsooth.
I have heard love talked in my early youth,
And since, not so long back but that the flowers
Then gathered, smell still. Mussulmans and Giaours
Throw kerchiefs at a smile, and have no ruth
For any weeping. Polypheme's white tooth
Slips on the nut if, after frequent showers,
The shell is over-smooth,---and not so much
Will turn the thing called love, aside to hate
Or else to oblivion. But thou art not such
A lover, my Belovèd! thou canst wait
Through sorrow and sickness, to bring souls to touch,
And think it soon when others cry "Too late."



I LOVE MY LOVE IN SECRET
by Robert Burns

Chorus

My Sandy O, my Sandy O,
My bonie, bonie Sandy O!
Tho' the love that I owe
To thee I dare na show,
Yet I love my love in secret,
My Sandy O!

I

My Sandy gied to me a ring
Was a' beset wi' diamonds fine;
But I gied him a far better thing,
I gied my heart in pledge o' his ring.

II

My Sandy brak a piece o' gowd,
While down his cheeks the saut tears row'd;
He took a hauf, and gied it to me,
And I'll keep it till the hour I die.

Chorus

My Sandy O, my Sandy O,
My bonie, bonie Sandy O!
Tho' the love that I owe
To thee I dare na show,
Yet I love my love in secret,
My Sandy O!



FORLORN MY LOVE
by Robert Burns

Chorus

O, wert thou, love, but near me,
But near, near, near me,
How kindly thou would cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, love!

I

Forlorn my love, no comfort near,
Far, far from thee I wander here;
Far, far from thee, the fate severe,
At which I most repine, love.

II

Around me scowls a wintry sky,
Blasting each bud of hope and joy,
And shelter, shade, nor home have I
Save in these arms of thine, love.

III

Cold, alter'd friendship's cruel part,
To poison Fortune's ruthless dart!
Let me not break thy faithful heart,
And say that fate is mine, love!

IV

But, dreary tho' the moments fleet,
O, let me think we yet shall meet!
That only ray of solace sweet
Can on thy Chloris shine, love!

Chorus

O, wert thou, love, but near me,
But near, near, near me,
How kindly thou would cheer me,
And mingle sighs with mine, love!



O, WERE MY LOVE
by Robert Burns

I

O, were my love yon lilac fair
Wi' purple blossoms to the spring,
And I a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing,
How I wad mourn when it was torn
By Autumn wild and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu' May its bloom renew'd.

II

O, gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa',
And I mysel a drap o' dew
Into her bonie breast to fa',
O, there, beyond expression blest,
I'd feast on beauty a' the night,
Seal'd on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley'd awa by Phoebus' light!

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
by Christopher Marlowe, 1564-1593?
(the author of several, if not many,
plays credited to Shakespeare)

Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dales and fields,
Or woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair-lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy-buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.

THE NYMPH'S REPLY TO THE SHEPHERD
by Sir Walter Raleigh (1554-1618)
(Before 1599)

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd's tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee and be thy love.

But time drives flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb;
The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields:
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,---
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs,---
All those in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed;
Had joys no date, nor age no need;
Then those delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

TO HARRIET
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

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;
No grief is mine, but that alone
These choicest blessings I have known.

Harriet! if all who long to live
In the warm sunshine of thine eye,
That price beyond all pain must give,---
Beneath thy scorn to die;
Then hear thy chosen own too late
His heart most worthy of thy hate.

Be thou, then, one among mankind
Whose heart is harder not for state,
Thou only virtuous, gentle, kind,
Amid a world of hate;
And by a slight endurance seal
A fellow-being's lasting weal.

For pale with anguish is his cheek,
His breath comes fast, his eyes are dim,
Thy name is struggling ere he speak,
Weak is each trembling limb;
In mercy let him not endure
The misery of a fatal cure.

Oh, trust for once no erring guide!
Bid the remorseless feeling flee;
'Tis malice, 'tis revenge, 'tis pride,
'Tis anything but thee;
Oh, deign a nobler pride to prove,
And pity if thou canst not love.

LOVE'S PHILOSOPHY
by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I

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?---

II

See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea:
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?

LOVE'S PASSION
by Aaron Belford Thompson

When love is centered in the breast,
And o'er the soul doth reign,
'Tis hard to break the union's tie,
And sever links in twain.

'Tis hard to turn away from one,
On whom our minds doth rest,
And seal the doors of secret love,
By reason's stern request.

And when we break the bond of love,
It leaves a heart felt sore;
A lasting plague is severed love,
Of anguish and of woe.

WHAT IS LOVE?
by Aaron Belford Thompson

What is Love? now who can tell?
Hast thou e'er possessed the spell?
If thou hast, thou know'st full well;
In thy heart a germ doth dwell,
That no power can e'er expell.
That is Love.

And the soul ofttimes doth seem,
Lulled with blissful happy dream;
Then with fear 'tis roused again,
Mingled with sad tears and pain.
That is Love.

Still there's something left untold,
Could my languid tongue express,
But the mystery don't unfold;
'Tis the power true Love possess.
What is Love?

A LOVE SONG
by Aaron Belford Thompson

The veil of night has come between,
The golden sun and I;
Sweet love to me has intervened,
I know not how, nor why.

And every balmy breeze that blow,
The rustling leaves above;
Like harmonizing music flow,
And whisper sighs of love.

I've ofttimes launched in land of dreams,
Through realms of thorns and flowers;
But love still lights my weary way,
Through sad and happy hours.

Now list my song, my lady love,
While each note clear doth swell;
Each note vibrates a promise true,
I ask thee, Is it well?

MY LADY LOVE
by Aaron Belford Thompson

Of all the winsome damsels, that my eyes have ever seen,
There is one, for whom my breast heaves constant sighs:
She is a handsome lady, she is to me a queen;
And I of Cupid---begged his noose to catch the prize.

To me she is so comely, the fairest maid around,
Yes---her voice is like the curlews of the spring;
Her ebon locks are curly, her cheeks are olive brown,
And her songs of music charm me when she sings.

The smiles that ever lingers, upon her winsome face,
Reflects like glit'ring rain-bow tints around;
My heart oft leaps with gladness, when through that smile I trace,
A love concealed, by hidden blushes bound.

Her laugh, I can't describe it, 'tis far beyond compare;
But it sounds like rippling waters I have heard;
Or the flow of some sweet cadence, on the tranquil even air;
Mingled with the gentle warble of a bird.

Although there're many a damsel, I find them all amiss;
Compared with her my lady love, Irene;
There is none whose smile possess me, with that sweet angelic bliss:
There is none, for she's my chosen queen.

LOVE
by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

In all earth's music, grand, or sweet, or strong,
To hear one name, as if 'twere set in song.

In all my poems, written 'neath the sun,
To find the praises, o'er and o'er, in one.

To feel thyself a lesser part of what
Hadst thou not found, the earth would be as naught.

To think all beauty, perfectness and grace,
As but the shadow of one worshiped face.

With that face's coming, to bask in warmth and light
And with its going to grope, as in the night.

To rather feel a dear hand's stinging blow
Than any caress another might bestow.

To rather sit in gloom, and hear one voice
Than, missing that, on mountain tops rejoice.

To lose all individual hope and aim,
And have no wish, but for another's fame.

To count grief naught, though great, if one is glad.
To feel no joy if that dear one is sad.

Do thy heart strings, responsive, answer this?
Then thou hast known true love in all its bliss.

AMONG ALL LOVELY THINGS
MY LOVE HAD BEEN
by William Wordsworth

Among all lovely things my Love had been;
Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew
About her home; but she had never seen
A Glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.

While riding near her home one stormy night
A single Glow-worm did I chance to espy;
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
And from my Horse I leapt; great joy had I.

Upon a leaf the Glow-worm did I lay,
To bear it with me through the stormy night:
And, as before, it shone without dismay;
Albeit putting forth a fainter light.

When to the Dwelling of my Love I came,
I went into the Orchard quietly;
And left the Glow-worm, blessing it by name,
Laid safely by itself, beneath a Tree.

The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear;
At night the Glow-worm shone beneath the Tree:
I led my Lucy to the spot, "Look here!"
Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!

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