1247 Love poems

Why should your fair eyes with such sovereign grace Disperse their rays on every vulgar spirit, Whilst I in darkness in the self-same place Get not one glance to recompense my merit? So doth the ploughman gaze the wandering star, And only rest contented with the light, That never learned what constellations are, Beyond the bent of his unknowing sight, O! why should beauty, custom to obey, To their gross sense apply herself so ill? Would God I were as ignorant as they, When I am made unhappy by my skill; Only compelled on this poor good to boast, Heavens are not kind to them that know them most.

Calling to mind since first my love begun, Th' incertain times oft varying in their course, How things still unexpectedly have run, As t' please the fates by their resistless force: Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen Essex' great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain, The quiet end of that long-living Queen, This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain, We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever: Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel. Yet to my goddess am I constant ever, Howe'er blind fortune turn her giddy wheel: Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue, Yet am I still inviolate to you.

Clear Ancor, on whose silver-sanded shore My soul-shrin'd saint, my fair Idea lies, O blessed brook, whose milk-white swans adore Thy crystal stream, refined by her eyes, Where sweet myrrh-breathing Zephyr in the spring Gently distils his nectar-dropping showers, Where nightingales in Arden sit and sing Amongst the dainty dew-impearled flowers; Say thus, fair brook, when thou shalt see thy queen: Lo, here thy shepherd spent his wand'ring years, And in these shades, dear nymph, he oft hath been, And here to thee he sacrific'd his tears. Fair Arden, thou my Tempe art alone, And thou, sweet Ancor, art my Helicon.

To Proverbs As Love and I, late harbour’d in one inn, With proverbs thus each other entertain: In love there is no lack, thus I begin, Fair words make fools, replieth he again; Who spares to speak, doth spare to speed (quoth I), As well (saith he) too forward, as too slow; Fortune assists the boldest, I reply, A hasty man (quoth he) ne’er wanted woe; Labour is light, where love (quoth I) doth pay, (Saith he) light burthen’s heavy, if far born; (Quoth I) the main lost, cast the bye away; You have spun a fair thread, he replies in scorn. And having thus awhile each other thwarted, Fools as we met, so fools again we parted.

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part. Nay, I have done, you get no more of me; And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart, That thus so cleanly I myself can free. Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows, And when we meet at any time again, Be it not seen in either of our brows That we one jot of former love retain. Now at the last gasp of Love’s latest breath, When, his pulse failing, Passion speechless lies; When Faith is kneeling by his bed of death, And Innocence is closing up his eyes— Now, if thou wouldst, when all have given him over, From death to life thou might’st him yet recover!

No woman wants to be low-hanging fruit, my glamorous girlfriend says, but I’m indiscriminate and love all fruit, I’m tempted to list each kind right here, in and out of season, because even just saying the names gives me pleasure, as does saying your name. I’m not alone with my passion — my whole family, we’re a little off in this regard, we can spend hours talking about cantaloupe or arguing over how many flats to buy when it’s Peach-O-Rama at the Metropolitan. Once I even drove half a day to get to Pence Orchards where I met and took photos of Bert Pence, who sold me three boxes of peaches at wholesale prices. He was so good to me, as was the late-summer freestone I picked as I walked back through the orchard in the August heat to the entrance gates, which were nothing like the Gates of Hell. On the contrary, I was in heaven there in Yakima. I can still smell that single peach, which was profusely low-hanging, it was the definition of low-hanging, it fell into my hands, as you did — or perhaps as I did into yours — but that was months ago. When I walked past the stands yesterday, on what should have been the first day of spring, all produce had been covered with heavy blankets to keep it warm, to mitigate harm. Today the temperature dropped so low someone thought to remove the fruit entirely and stash it away. With this strange weather we’re having, will I see you again? I can’t help myself.

I knew too that through them I knew too that he was through, I knew too that he threw them. I knew too that they were through, I knew too I knew too, I knew I knew them. I knew to them. If they tear a hunter through, if they tear through a hunter, if they tear through a hunt and a hunter, if they tear through different sizes of the six, the different sizes of the six which are these, a woman with a white package under one arm and a black package under the other arm and dressed in brown with a white blouse, the second Saint Joseph the third a hunter in a blue coat and black garters and a plaid cap, a fourth a knife grinder who is full faced and a very little woman with black hair and a yellow hat and an excellently smiling appropriate soldier. All these as you please. In the meantime examples of the same lily. In this way please have you rung. WHAT DO I SEE? A very little snail. A medium sized turkey. A small band of sheep. A fair orange tree. All nice wives are like that. Listen to them from here. Oh. You did not have an answer. Here. Yes. A VERY VALENTINE. Very fine is my valentine. Very fine and very mine. Very mine is my valentine very mine and very fine. Very fine is my valentine and mine, very fine very mine and mine is my valentine. WHY DO YOU FEEL DIFFERENTLY. Why do you feel differently about a very little snail and a big one. Why do you feel differently about a medium sized turkey and a very large one. Why do you feel differently about a small band of sheep and several sheep that are riding. Why do you feel differently about a fair orange tree and one that has blossoms as well. Oh very well. All nice wives are like that. To Be No Please. To Be They can please Not to be Do they please. Not to be Do they not please Yes please. Do they please No please. Do they not please No please. Do they please. Please. If you please. And if you please. And if they please And they please. To be pleased Not to be pleased. Not to be displeased. To be pleased and to please. KNEELING One two three four five six seven eight nine and ten. The tenth is a little one kneeling and giving away a rooster with this feeling. I have mentioned one, four five seven eight and nine. Two is also giving away an animal. Three is changed as to disposition. Six is in question if we mean mother and daughter, black and black caught her, and she offers to be three she offers it to me. That is very right and should come out below and just so. BUNDLES FOR THEM. A HISTORY OF GIVING BUNDLES. We are able to notice that each one in a way carried a bundle, they were not a trouble to them nor were they all bundles as some of them were chickens some of them pheasants some of them sheep and some of them bundles, they were not a trouble to them and then indeed we learned that it was the principal recreation and they were so arranged that they were not given away, and to-day they were given away. I will not look at them again. They will not look for them again. They have not seen them here again. They are in there and we hear them again. In which way are stars brighter than they are. When we have come to this decision. We mention many thousands of buds. And when I close my eyes I see them. If you hear her snore It is not before you love her You love her so that to be her beau is very lovely She is sweetly there and her curly hair is very lovely She is sweetly here and I am very near and that is very lovely. She is my tender sweet and her little feet are stretched out well which is a treat and very lovely Her little tender nose is between her little eyes which close and are very lovely. She is very lovely and mine which is very lovely. ON HER WAY. If you can see why she feel that she kneels if you can see why he knows that he shows what he bestows, if you can see why they share what they share, need we question that there is no doubt that by this time if they had intended to come they would have sent some notice of such intention. She and they and indeed the decision itself is not early dissatisfaction. IN THIS WAY. Keys please, it is useless to alarm any one it is useless to alarm some one it is useless to be alarming and to get fertility in gardens in salads in heliotrope and in dishes. Dishes and wishes are mentioned and dishes and wishes are not capable of darkness. We like sheep. And so does he. LET US DESCRIBE. Let us describe how they went. It was a very windy night and the road although in excellent condition and extremely well graded has many turnings and although the curves are not sharp the rise is considerable. It was a very windy night and some of the larger vehicles found it more prudent not to venture. In consequence some of those who had planned to go were unable to do so. Many others did go and there was a sacrifice, of what shall we, a sheep, a hen, a cock, a village, a ruin, and all that and then that having been blessed let us bless it.

Sometimes in time’s near unassailable sangfroid there is a thawing & the memory asserts its musicality again reminds one that it is at heart heart’s artificer *     *     * Somewhere in Okinawa there are stairs “My husband is the only constant in” are concrete stairs that lead one (or at least led me, age six) near straight from top to bottom of a cliff face & they ended in a black-sand beach “the only constant in my life. When I was young I would have thought I would regret it, to have wrapped myself up like a caterpillar in a man—but if my name, like his, is Vogelsang, then I must half recede with him

She could tell he loved her. He wanted her there sitting in the front pew when he preached. He liked to watch her putting up her hair and ate whatever she cooked and never broached the subject of the years before they met. He was thoughtful always. He let her say whether or not they did anything in bed and tried to learn the games she tried to play. She could tell how deep his feeling ran. He liked to say her name and bought her stuff for no good reason. He was a gentle man. How few there are she knew well enough. He sometimes reached to flick away a speck of something on her clothes and didn’t drum his fingers on the table when she spoke. What would he do if he knew she had a dream sometimes, slipping out of her nightgown— if ever God forbid he really knew her— to slip once out of the house and across town and find someone to talk dirty to her.

You can take it away, as far as I'm concerned—I'd rather spend the afternoon with a nice dog. I'm not kidding. Dogs have what a lot of poems lack: excitements and responses, a sense of play the ability to impart warmth, elation . . . . Howard Moss Dogs will also lick your face if you let them. Their bodies will shiver with happiness. A simple walk in the park is just about the height of contentment for them, followed by a bowl of food, a bowl of water, a place to curl up and sleep. Someone to scratch them where they can't reach and smooth their foreheads and talk to them. Dogs also have a natural dislike of mailmen and other bringers of bad news and will bite them on your behalf. Dogs can smell fear and also love with perfect accuracy. There is no use pretending with them. Nor do they pretend. If a dog is happy or sad or nervous or bored or ashamed or sunk in contemplation, everybody knows it. They make no secret of themselves. You can even tell what they're dreaming about by the way their legs jerk and try to run on the slippery ground of sleep. Nor are they given to pretentious self-importance. They don't try to impress you with how serious or sensitive they are. They just feel everything full blast. Everything is off the charts with them. More than once I've seen a dog waiting for its owner outside a café practically implode with worry. “Oh, God, what if she doesn't come back this time? What will I do? Who will take care of me? I loved her so much and now she's gone and I'm tied to a post surrounded by people who don't look or smell or sound like her at all.” And when she does come, what a flurry of commotion, what a chorus of yelping and cooing and leaps straight up into the air! It's almost unbearable, this sudden fullness after such total loss, to see the world made whole again by a hand on the shoulder and a voice like no other.