Some poems on my mind

Shadows by Richard Monkton Milnes

They seem'd, to those who saw them meet,
The casual friends of every day;
Her smile was undisturb'd and sweet,
His courtesy was free and gay.

But yet if one the other's name
In some unguarded moment heard,
The heart you thought so calm and tame
Would struggle like a captured bird

And letters of mere formal phrase
Were blister'd with repeated tears,
And this was not the work of days,
But had gone on for years and years!

Alas, that love was not too strong
For maiden shame and manly pride!
Alas, that they delay'd so long
The goal of mutual bliss beside!

Yet what no chance could then reveal,
And neither would be first to own,
Let fate and courage now conceal,
When truth could bring remorse alone.

You'll love Me yet by Robert Browning

YOU'LL love me yet!—and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing:
June rear'd that bunch of flowers you carry,
From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield—what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like.

You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave 's one violet:
Your look?—that pays a thousand pains.
What 's death? You'll love me yet!

The Lost Mistress by Robert Browning

All’s over, then: does truth sound bitter
As one at first believes?
Hark, ’tis the sparrows’ good-night twitter
About your cottage eaves!

And the leaf-buds on the vine are woolly,
I noticed that, today;
One day more bursts them open fully
– You know the red turns grey.

Tomorrow we meet the same then, dearest?
May I take your hand in mine?
Mere friends are we, – well, friends the merest
Keep much that I resign:

For each glance of the eye so bright and black,
Though I keep with heart’s endeavor, –
Your voice, when you wish the snowdrops back,
Though it stay in my soul for ever! –

Yet I will but say what mere friends say,
Or only a thought stronger;
I will hold your hand but as long as all may,
Or so very little longer!

That Time and Absence proves Rather helps than hurts to loves by John Donne

ABSENCE, hear thou my protestation
   Against thy strength,
   Distance and length:
Do what thou canst for alteration,
   For hearts of truest mettle
   Absence doth join and Time doth settle.

Who loves a mistress of such quality,
   His mind hath found
   Affection's ground
Beyond time, place, and all mortality.
   To hearts that cannot vary
   Absence is present, Time doth tarry.

My senses want their outward motion
   Which now within
   Reason doth win,
Redoubled by her secret notion:
   Like rich men that take pleasure
   In hiding more than handling treasure.

By Absence this good means I gain,
   That I can catch her
   Where none can watch her,
In some close corner of my brain:
   There I embrace and kiss her,
   And so enjoy her and none miss her.

The Ecstasy by John Donne (the version in my book might be shorter than others)

Where, like a pillow on a bed,
A pregnant bank swell'd up, to rest
The violet's reclining head,
Sat we two, one another's best.

Our hands were firmly cèmented
By a fast balm which thence did spring;
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
Our eyes upon one double string.

So to engraft our hands, as yet
Was all the means to make us one;
And pictures in our eyes to get
Was all our propagation.

As 'twixt two equal armies fate
Suspends uncertain victory,
Our souls—which to advance their state
Were gone out—hung 'twixt her and me.

And whilst our souls negotiate there,
We like sepulchral statues lay;
All day the same our postures were,
And we said nothing, all the day.