I grow so weary, someway, of all things That love and loving have vouchsafed to me, Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasy Am I possessed of: The caress that clings— The lips that mix with mine with murmurings No language may interpret, and the free, Unfettered...
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I ne'er was struck before that hour With love so sudden and so sweet. Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale, a deadly pale. My legs refused to walk away, And when she looked what could I ail My life...
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I sleep with thee, and wake with thee, And yet thou art not there; I fill my arms with thoughts of thee, And press the common air. Thy eyes are gazing upon mine When thou art out of sight; My lips are always touching thine At morning, noon, and night....
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I hid my love when young while I Couldn't bear the buzzing of a fly I hid my love to my despite Till I could not bear to look at light I dare not gaze upon her face But left her memory in each place Where ere I saw a wild flower lie I kissed and bade my love...
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You say you love; but with a voice Chaster than a nun's, who singeth The soft vespers to herself While the chime-bell ringeth— O love me truly!
You say you love; but with a smile Cold as sunrise in September, As you were Saint Cupid's nun, And...
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Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night, And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient sleepless eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or...
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I
If I were her lover, I'd wade through the clover Over the fields before The gate that leads to her door; Over the meadows, To wait, 'mid the shadows, The shadows that circle her door, For the heart of my heart and more. And there in the...
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Come to me in my dreams, and then By day I shall be well again! For then the night will more than pay The hopeless longing of the day.
Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times, A messenger from radiant climes, And smile on thy new world, and be As kind to...
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Whose is the love that, gleaming through the world, Wards off the poisonous arrow of its scorn? Whose is the warm and partial praise, Virtue's most sweet reward?
Beneath whose looks did my reviving soul Riper in truth and virtuous daring grow? Whose eyes have I...
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Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory.— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken.—
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead, Are heap'd for the beloved's bed— And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone, Love itself shall...
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