The most romantic love poems


Le Triste Adieu

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OFT have we parted Love! before
With prospects darkly shadow'd o'er,
But never have we sunder'd yet,
    With such wild hopelessness as now,
Since first by fate's caprice we met,
Since first upon each heart was set,
    Too powerful love's recorded vow.
Oh! absence were enough to bear
Without the death-spell of despair!
There is no joy on earth to me
    Where thou art not,--I sigh to hear
That voice of tend'rest melody
    Still breathe its sweetness to mine ear;
And words from other lips than thine
    Pass, like the winds, unheeded by;
They cannot cheer this breast of mine,
Which ev'n in palaces would pine,
    For thy dear tone's soft witchery.
Smiles, beautiful as thought can paint,
To me would seem but pale and faint
If I must vainly seek the one,
Whose brightness o'er my soul hath shone;
And eyes of richest light, might beam
Like stars upon me, when their gleam,
Hath pour'd upon the midnight sky,
Its fulness of resplendency;
But dim to me would seem their ray,
    If thine were distant :--I should turn
From sunniest looks in grief away,
    O'er our divided lot to mourn.
Thou think'st my heart is colder grown
Amidst the storms we both have known;
No, thou dost wrong me, dearest!--still
Throbs its warm life-pulse but for thee,
With most intense devotion's thrill,
Nor gloomiest hours of gath'ring ill,
    Can shake its deep fidelity.
Wilt thou, with truth as holy, keep
    Affection's glow, unchang'd, and pure?
Shall no dim cloud upon it creep,
    When wealth's gay scenes thy steps allure

In Pleasure's halls, a welcome guest,
Thou wilt be courted, and carest,
And smil'd on by the loveliest!

And wilt thou not too greatly prize
The world's bewildering flatteries,
To dwell, with gentle thoughts, on one,
Whose best, and happiest days, are gone;
And o'er whose path-way tempests throw
    The threat'nings of their angry wing,
Whose ambush'd thunder, soon below
    May burst, in bolts of suffering.
THY web of destiny was wrought,
In colours from the rainbow caught;
And golden threads were blended there,
With silken lines of promise fair,
Mine, was the woof of sadden'd grey,
    Unmix'd with aught of brilliant hue;
Fram'd in its varyings to display
    No tints, but those to sorrow true.
And thou perhaps would'st break the chain,
    Entwin'd around us, ere we knew
How heavily its weight of pain,
    Would oft thy mind's repose subdue :--
Let not the cares which round me cling,
    Obscure one moment's bliss for thee ;--
But sever fearlessly the string--
The lingering cord--which will but bring
    Grief!--if it link thee still to me !
Go!--shine where tears are never shed,
    And leave me to my lonely doom:
Soon will my love with life be fled,
    And rest will greet me,-in the tomb!

Eliza Acton (1799 - 1859)


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