song s

by frances sargent locke osgood (1811-1850)

your heart is a music-box, dearest!

with exquisite tunes at command,
of melody sweetest and clearest,
if tried by a delicate hand;
but its workmanship, love, is so fine,
at a single rude touch it would break;
then, oh! be the magic key mine,
its fairy-like whispers to wake.
and there �s one little tune it can play,
that i fancy all others above,�
you learned it of cupid one day,�
it begins with and ends with �i love!� �i love!�
my heart echoes to it �i love!�
-----------------------------------------------------------
chloe divine s
by thomas d urfey (1653-1723)

chloe�s a nymph in flowery groves,

a nereid in the streams;
saint-like she in the temple moves,
a woman in my dreams.

love steals artillery from her eyes,

the graces point her charms;
orpheus is rivall�d in her voice,
and venus in her arms.

never so happily in one

did heaven and earth combine:
and yet �tis flesh and blood alone
that makes her so divine.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
of pearls and stars s
by heinrich heine

the pearly treasures of the sea,

the lights that spatter heaven above,
more precious than these wonders are
my heart-of-hearts filled with your love.

the ocean's power, the heavenly sights

cannot outweigh a love filled heart.
and sparkling stars or glowing pearls
pale as love flashes, beams and darts.

so, little, youthful maiden come

into my ample, feverish heart
for heaven and earth and sea and sky
do melt as love has melt my heart.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
calendar s
by clark ashton smith (1893-1961)

to find with you the earliest

willow-buds before their silver turns to gold,
and the first previous buttercup and cyclamen that blossom
ere the leaflets of the vernal trees unfold;
to lie with you in june
beneath a broad magnolia-scented moon,
and under stars and meteors of late summer;
to see with you
the goldenrod become an ashen ghost
and the rose of autumn crumble
and the leaf put on the splendor of the rose,

and the last leaf fall upon the wintry blue

in a wind from the lofty snows;
to sit with you beside the murmuring fire
when a stifled sunset dies,
and watch through misty panes
the boughs that toss upon a winter-driven sky
and the swift eternal slanting of dark rains:

these are my seasons,

this is my calendar,
where love appoints the course of many a sun and star;
and, wanting you, i should not care nor know
if it were the time of falling jasmine-petals
or the time of falling snow.
----------------------------------------------------------------
exotique s
by clark ashton smith (1893-1961)

thy mouth is like a crimson orchid-flower

whence perfume and whence poison rise unseen
to moons aswim in iris or in green,
or mix with morning in an eastern bower.

thou shouldst have known, in amarathine isles,

the sunsets hued like fire of frankincense,
and noontides fraught with far-borne redolence,
the mingled spicery of purple miles.

thy breasts, where blood and molten marble flow,

thy warm white limbs, thy loins of tropic snow�
these, these, by which desire is grown divine,

were made for dreams in mystic palaces,

for love and sleep and slow voluptuousness,
and summer seas afoam like foaming wine.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
cleopatra
by clark ashton smith

thy beauty is the warmth and languor of an orient autumn,

caressing all the senses�
with light from skies of heavy azure,
with perfume from blossoms large as thuribles,
that hang in the berylline dusk of palms;
with the balmy kiss of wind and wave beneath canopus;
and the songs of exotic birds
that pass in vermilion-flashing flight from isle to isle
on an ocean of lazuli.
o, sweetness in the inmost sense,
as of blood-red fruits that have grown by the waters of lethe,
or fragrance of purple lilies crushed in a cypress-grove
by the sleeping limbs of eros ! . . .
thou pervadest me with thy love
as the dawn pervadeth a valley among mountains,
or as sunset filleth the amaranth-colored sea;
the desire of thy heart is upon me
like a summer wind from cythera,
where venus lies among the tiger-lilies
by a pool whose waters arc fed from secret springs;
i inhale thy love
as the breath of hidden gardens of purple and scarlet,
where circe trails a gown
whose colors are the reddening gold of flame
and the azure of the skies of autumn.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
bed of mint s
by clark ashton smith

fragrant were the embraces

that i shared with you
where the wild mint grew.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
but grant, o venus
by clark ashton smith

though love had dreamt of soft eternities

for never-flagging pulses still to mete,
those minutes of our bliss were few and fleet.
breast-pillowed in their aftermath of ease,
she said to me at midnight: "memories
are all we have in the end." ah, bitter-sweet
the doom that tolling bells of thought repeat�
this verity of solemn verities
wherein the sorrowful senses find despair
and the heart an iridescence on dark tears....
but grant, o venus of the hidden hill,
that many a rose-lit eve remain to share,
and midnights in the unascended years,
and starry memories unbegotten still.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
ecstasy s
by clark ashton smith

blind with your softly fallen hair,

i turn me from the twilight air;
and, ah, the wordless tale of love
my lips upon your lips declare!

high stars are on the shadowy south�

unseen, unknown: the urgent drouth
of desolate years in one deep kiss
would drain the sweetness of your mouth.

our straining arms that clasp and close

ache with an ecstasy that grows,
and passion in our secret veins,
like burning amber, glows and glows.

this love is sweet to have and hold,

better than sandalwood or gold,
after the barren, bitter loves,
the mad and mournful loves of old.

this love is fortunate and fair,

behind its veil of fallen hair;
this love has soft and clinging arms,
and a kind bosom, warm and bare.
----------------------------------------------------------
all is dross that is not helena s
by clark ashton smith

what wistful lover has not mused upon

the waste of years that never knew his love!
and, wanting her once more, the seasons prove
but dearth and draff to feed oblivion.

i deem that all is empty, in my turn,

beyond your tender arms, your tender heart:
void and deviceless are the nets of art,
and song and silence are of one concern,

dearer than paphos' joy, or lethe's peace!

in you alone are solace and surcease
of antenatal dolor, ancient wrong.

you are the supreme boon, the only good

to one, who finds despair in solitude,
and weariness of heart amid the throng.
-------------------------------------------------------------
the valentine s
by mary weston fordham (1845-1905)

lady with thine eyes of beauty

rivaling cerulean flowers,
where the love-beams seem to linger,
throughout youth's bright, sunny hours.

with thy smile of witching sweetness

like the magnet's mystic art,
charming oft enchanting oft'ner,
drawing to thee every heart.

but, fair lady, i'll no longer

linger thus o'er nature's mould,
'tis thy spirit's beauty charms me,
more than mines of peru's gold.

like an exile who hath wandered

far from kindred and from home,
pants and longs once more to greet them,
never more on earth to roam;--

like the tempest-tossed, the weary,

who of earth ne'er had their part,
fain would land their stricken spirits
where heart answers unto heart;--

so this bosom when o'erflowing

with some latent, deadly grief,
loves to revel in the music
of thy voice to find relief.

and when joys do hover 'round me,

weaving chaplets rich and bright,
i'd away from pleasures turn me
to my beautiful "starlight."

lady! could i seal thy future,

all of bliss and love 'twould be;
and when time with us is ended,
spend eternity with thee.
----------------------------------------------------------
when, love, i need thee most s
by josephine delphine henderson heard (1861-1921)

at morn when gentle breezes play,

when sunshine lightens up the day,
when ripples shake the ocean's coast,
or when the wind its powers boast,
at night, when all is drear and dark,
when skies forbid a single spark;
in winter, when the low winds whine,
or summer, with its mellow chime;
when flowers nod their dainty head,
or yet, when leaves lie prone and dead;

when i delight thy face to see,

or would that love should come to me,
i cannot say when best the time,
for, love, i need thee all the time.

if breezes soft sweep o'er my brow,

my heart cries, love, i need thee now;
if storms of sorrow darkly come,
i weep for love, and feel alone.
if skies are blue, and bright and fair,
or when the white down floats in air,
in mirthful song, or mournful rhyme,
come, love, i need thee all the time.

to help me sorrows great to bear,

or in my love's elysium share;
i shall not note the season's change,
and trouble will be ever strange,
if brightly still love's flame doth shine,
i need thee, love, yes, all the time.

o, light my path with thy fond voice,

and make my happy heart rejoice;
be constant, true, until the end,
thy radiance on my dark way spend;
my life is woven into thine,
so, love, i need thee all the time.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i love thee s
by josephine delphine henderson heard

thou art not near me, but i see thine eyes

shine through the gloom like stars in winter skies---
pointing the way my longing steps would go,
to come to thee because i love thee so.

thou art not near me, but i feel thine arm,

soft folded round me, shielding me from harm,
guiding me on as in the days of old---
sometimes life seems so dark, so dreary and so cold.

thou art not near me, but i hear thee speak,

sweet as the breath of june upon my cheek,
and as thou speakest i forget my fears,
and all the darkness, and my lonely tears.

o love, my love, whatever our fate may be,

close to thy side, or never more with thee,
absent or present, near or far apart,
thou hast my love and fillest all my heart.
-------------------------------------------------------------------
song s
~ thomas lovell beddoes

how many times do i love thee, dear?

tell me how many thoughts there be
in the atmosphere
of a new-fall'n year,
whose white and sable hours appear
the latest flake of eternity:
so many times do i love thee, dear.

how many times do i love again?

tell me how many beads there are
in a silver chain
of evening rain,

unravell'd from the tumbling main,

and threading the eye of a yellow star:
so many times do i love again.
----------------------------------------------------------------
the telegrapher's valentine s
by j c maxwell

the tendrils of my soul are twined

with thine, though many a mile apart.
and thine in close coiled circuits wind
around the needle of my heart.

constant as daniel, strong as grove.

ebullient throughout its depths like smee,
my heart puts forth its tide of love,
and all its circuits close in thee.
o tell me, when along the line
from my full heart the message flows,
what currents are induced in thine?
one click from thee will end my woes.

through many a volt the weber flew,

and clicked this answer back to me;
i am thy farad staunch and true,
charged to a volt with love for thee.
--------------------------------------------------------------
last leave s
by eileen newton

let us forget tomorrow! for tonight

at least, with curtains drawn, and driftwood piled
on our own hearthstone, we may rest, and see
the firelight flickering on familiar walls.
(how the blue flames leap when an ember falls!)
peace, and content, and soul-security--
these are within. without, the waste is wild
with storm-clouds sweeping by in furious flight,
and ceaseless beating of autumnal rain
upon our window pane.

the dusk grows deeper now, the flames are low:

we do not heed the shadows, you and i,
nor fear the grey wings of encroaching gloom,
so softly they enfold us. one last gleam
flashes and flits, elusive as a dream,
and then dies out upon the darkened room.
so, even so, our earthly fires must die;
yet, in our hearts, love's flame shall leap and glow
when this dear night, with all it means to me,
is but a memory!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
desire s
~samuel taylor coleridge

where true love burns desire is love's pure flame;

it is the reflex of our earthly frame,
that takes its meaning from the nobler part,
and but translates the language of the heart.

http://asandboxgreeting.com/flyaway.html
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
my dove, my beautiful one s
by james joyce

my dove, my beautiful one,

arise, arise!
the night-dew lies
upon my lips and eyes.

the odorous winds are weaving

a music of sighs:
arise, arise,
my dove, my beautiful one!
i wait by the cedar tree,
my sister, my love,
white breast of the dove,
my breast shall be your bed.

the pale dew lies

like a veil on my head.
my fair one, my fair dove,

arise, arise!
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
licia sonnets 29 s
by giles fletcher sr

why died i not whenas i last did sleep?

o sleep too short that shadowed forth my dear!
heavens, hear my prayers, nor thus me waking keep!
for this were heaven, if thus i sleeping were.
for in that dark there shone a princely light;
two milk-white hills, both full of nectar sweet,
her ebon thighs, the wonder of my sight,
where all my senses with their objects meet,--
i pass these sports, in secret that are best,
wherein my thoughts did seem alive to be;
we both did strive, and weary both did rest;
i kissed her still, and still she kissed me.
heavens, let me sleep, and shows my senses feed
or let me wake and happy be indeed!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
love and sleep s
by algernon charles swinburne

lying asleep between the strokes of night

i saw my love lean over my sad bed,
pale as the duskiest lilly's leaf or head,
smooth-skinned and dark, with bare throat made to bite,
too wan for blushing and too warm for white,
but perfect-coloured without white or red.
and her lips opened amorously, and said -
i wist not what, saving one word - delight.
and all her face was honey to my mouth,
and all her body pasture to mine eyes.
the long lithe arms and hotter hands than fire,
the quivering flanks, hair smelling of the south,
the bright light feet, the splendid supple thighs
and glittering eyelids of my soul's desire.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
eve to adam s
by john milton (1608-1674)
[from paradise lost]

with thee conversing, i forget all time,

all seasons, and their change, all please alike.
sweet is the breath of morn, her rising sweet,
with charm of earliest birds; pleasant the sun,
when first on this delightful land he spreads
his orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
glistering with dew; fragrant the fertile earth
after soft showers; and sweet the coming-on
of grateful evening mild; then silent night,
with this her solemn bird, and this fair moon,
and these the gems of heaven, her starry train.
but neither breath of morn, when she ascends
with charm of earliest birds; nor rising sun
on this delightful land; nor herb, fruit, flower,
glistering with dew; nor fragrance after showers;
nor grateful evening mild; nor silent night,
with this her solemn bird; nor walk by moon,
or glittering starlight, without thee is sweet.
but wherefore all night long shine these? for whom
this glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?
---------------------------------------------------------------------
loves she like me? s
~ samuel woodworth

o say, my flattering heart,

loves she like me?
is her's thy counterpart,
throbs it like thee?
does she remember yet
the spot where first we met,
which i shall ne'er forget,
loves she like me?

soft echoes still repeat

"loves she like me?"
when on that mossy seat,
beneath the tree,
i wake my amorous lay
while lambkins round me play,
and whispering zephyrs say,
loves she like me?

on her i think by day,

loves she like me?
with her in dreams i stray
o'er mead and lea.
my hopes of earthly bliss
are all comprised in this,
to share her nuptial kiss, -
loves she like me?

does absence give her pain?

loves she like me?
and does she thus arraign
fortune's decree?
does she my name repeat?
will she with rapture greet
the hour that sees us meet?
loves she like me?
--------------------------------------------------------
sonnet lxiiii s
by edmund spenser

comming to kisse her lyps, (such grace i found)

me seemd i smelt a gardin of sweet flowres:
that dainty odours from them threw around
for damzels fit to decke their louers bowres.
her lips did smell lyke vnto gillyflowers,
her ruddy cheekes lyke vnto roses red:
her snowy browes lyke budded bellamoures,
her louely eyes lyke pincks but newly spred,
her goodly bosome lyke a strawberry bed,
her neck lyke to a bounch of cullambynes:
her brest lyke lillyes, ere theyr leaues be shed,
her nipples lyke yong blossomd iessemynes,
such fragrant flowres doe giue most odorous smell,
but her sweet odour did them all excell.
-----------------------------------------------------------
my love in her attire s
--anonymous olde english

my loue in her attyre doth shew her witt,

it doth so well become her:
for eu'ry season she hath dressings fitt,
for winter, spring, and summer.
no beautie shee doth misse,
when all her robes are on:
but beauties selfe shee is,
when all her robes are gone.
---------------------------------------------------------------
"i said--i care not" s
by richard le gallienne

i said--i care not if i can

but look into her eyes again,
but lay my hand within her hand
just once again.

though all the world be filled with snow

and fire and cataclysmal storm,
i'll cross it just to lay my head
upon her bosom warm.

ah! bosom made of april flowers,

might i but bring this aching brain,
this foolish head, and lay it down
on april once again!
--------------------------------------------------------------------
come, rest in this bosom s
by thomas moore

come, rest in this bosom, my own stricken deer,

though the herd have fled from thee, thy home is still here;
here still is the smile, that no cloud can o'ercast,
and a heart and a hand all thy own to the last.

oh! what was love made for, if 'tis not the same
through joy and through torment, through glory and shame?
i know not, i ask not, if guilt's in that heart?
i but know that i love thee, whatever thou art.

thou hast call'd me thy angel in moments of bliss,

and thy angel i'd be, 'mid the horrors of this, --
through the furnace, unshrinking, thy steps to pursue,
and shield thee, and save thee, -- or perish there too!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"darling tell me yes" s
by john godfrey saxe (1816-1887)

one little minute more, maud,

one little whisper more;
i have a word to speak, maud,
i never breathed before.
what can it be but love, maud;
and do i rightly guess
'tis pleasant to your ear, maud?
o darling! tell me yes!

the burden of my heart, maud,

there's little need to tell;
there's little need to say, maud,
i've loved you long and well.
there's language in a sigh, maud,
one's meaning to express,
and yours - was it for me, maud?
o darling! tell me yes!

my eyes have told my love, maud,

and on my burning cheek,
you've read the tender thought, maud,
my lips refused to speak.
i gave you all my heart, maud,
'tis needless to confess;
and did you give me yours, maud?
o darling! tell me yes!

'tis sad to starve a love, maud,

so worshipful and true;
i know a little cot, maud,
quite large enough for two;
and you will be my wife, maud?
so may you ever bless
through all your sunny life, maud,
the day you answered yes!
----------------------------------------
"with my body i thee worship" s
by john godfrey saxe (1816-1887)

that i adore thee, my most gracious queen,

more in my spirit than my body's sense
of thine, were such incredible pretence
as i would scorn to utter. thou hast seen
when eyes and lips, responsive to the heart,
were bent in worship of thy lips and eyes,
until, o bliss! each pleasure-pulsing part
hath found its fellow in love's sweet emprise;
each answering other in such eager wise
as they would never cease to kiss and cling--
ah! then meseemed amid the storm of sighs
i heard thy voice exclaiming, "o my king!
so may my soul be ever true to thine,
as with thy body thou dost worship mine!"
----------------------------------------------------------
"do i love thee?"
by john godfrey saxe (1816-1887)

do i love thee? ask the bee

if she loves the flowery lea,
where the honeysuckle blows
and the fragrant clover grows.
as she answers, yes or no,
darling! take my answer so.

do i love thee? ask the bird

when her matin song is heard,
if she loves the sky so fair,
fleecy cloud and liquid air.
as she answers, yes, or no,
darling! take my answer so.

do i love thee? ask the flower

if she loves the vernal shower,
or the kisses of the sun,
or the dew, when day is done.
as she answers, yes or no,
darling! take my answer so.
----------------------------------------
to lesbia s
by john godfrey saxe

give me kisses! do not stay,

counting in that careful way.
all the coins your lips can print
never will exhaust the mint.
kiss me, then,
every moment - and again!

give me kisses! do not stop,

measuring nectar by the drop.
though to millions they amount,
they will never drain the fount.
kiss me, then,
every moment - and again!

give me kisses! all is waste

save the luxury we taste;
and for kissing, - kisses live
only when we take or give.
kiss me, then,
every moment - and again!

give me kisses! though their worth

far exceeds the gems of earth,
never pearls so rich and pure
cost so little, i am sure.
kiss me, then,
every moment - and again!

give me kisses! nay, 'tis true

i am just as rich as you;
and for every kiss i owe,
i can pay you back, you know,
kiss me, then,
every moment - and again!
--------------------------------------------
to my love s
by john godfrey saxe

kiss me softly and speak to me low;

malice has ever a vigilant ear;
what if malice were lurking near?
kiss me, dear!
kiss me softly and speak to me low.

kiss me softly and speak to me low;

envy, too, has a watchful ear;
what if envy should chance to hear?
kiss me, dear!
kiss me softly and speak to me low,

kiss me softly and speak to me low;

trust me, darling, the time is near
when lovers may love with never a fear;
kiss me, dear!
kiss me softly and speak to me low.
------------------------------------------------------
"wouldn't you like to know"
by john godfrey saxe (1816-1887)

i know a girl with teeth of pearl,

and shoulders white as snow;
she lives, - ah well,
i must not tell, -
wouldn't you like to know?

her sunny hair is wondrous fair,

and wavy in its flow;
who made it less
one little tress, -
wouldn't you like to know?

her eyes are blue (celestial hue!)

and dazzling in their glow;
on whom they beam
with melting gleam, -
wouldn't you like to know?

her lips are red and finely wed,

like roses ere they blow;
what lover sips
those dewy lips, -
wouldn't you like to know?

her fingers are like lilies fair

when lilies fairest grow;
whose hand they press
with fond caress, -
wouldn't you like to know?

her foot is small, and has a fall

like snowflakes on the snow;
and where it goes
beneath the rose, -
wouldn't you like to know?

she has a name, the sweetest name

that language can bestow.
'twould break the spell
if i should tell, -
wouldn't you like to know?
-----------------------------------------------
love's comradeship s
by sir gilbert parker (1862-1932)

it is enough that in this burdened time

the soul sees all its purposes aright.
the rest--what does it matter? soon the night
will come to whelm us, then the morning chime.
what does it matter, if but in the way
one hand clasps ours, one heart believes us true;
one understands the work we try to do,
and strives through love to teach us what to say?
between me and the chilly outer air
which blows in from the world, there standeth one
who draws love's curtains closely everywhere,
as god folds down the banners of the sun.
warm is my place about me, and above,
where was the raven, i behold the dove.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
i leave thee for awhile
by eliza cook (1818-1889)

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.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------