Love poems

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THERES a cure for sorrow in the well at Ballylee
Where the scarlet cressets hang over the trembling pool:
And joyful winds are blowing from the Land of Youth to me,
And the heart of the earth is full.

The Child of Destiny

© George William Russell

THIS is the hero-heart of the enchanted isle,
Whom now the twilight children tenderly enfold,
Pat with their pearly palms and crown with elfin gold,
While in the mountains breast his brothers watch and smile.

Whom We Worship

© George William Russell

I WOULD not have the love of lips and eyes,
The ancient ways of love:
But in my heart I built a Paradise,
A nest there for the dove.

The Garden of God

© George William Russell

WITHIN the iron cities
One walked unknown for years,
In his heart the pity of pities
That grew for human tears.

The Parting of Ways

© George William Russell

THE SKIES from black to pearly grey
Had veered without a star or sun;
Only a burning opal ray
Fell on your brow when all was done.

The Earth

© George William Russell

THEY tell me that the earth is still the same
Although the Red Branch now is but a name,
That yonder peasant lifting up his eyes
Can see the marvel of the morning rise,
The wonder Deirdre gazed on when she came.

Illusion

© George William Russell

WHAT is the love of shadowy lips
That know not what they seek or press,
From whom the lure for ever slips
And fails their phantom tenderness?

Warning

© George William Russell

PURE at heart we wander now:
Comrade on the quest divine,
Turn not from the stars your brow
That your eyes may rest on mine.

A Womans Voice

© George William Russell

HIS head within my bosom lay,
But yet his spirit slipped not through:
I only felt the burning clay
That withered for the cooling dew.

The Master Singer

© George William Russell

A LAUGHTER in the diamond air, a music in the trembling grass;
And one by one the words of light as joydrops through my being pass:
I am the sunlight in the heart, the silver moon-glow in the mind;
My laughter runs and ripples through the wavy tresses of the wind.

Krishna

© George William Russell

I PAUSED beside the cabin door and saw the King of Kings at play,
Tumbled upon the grass I spied the little heavenly runaway.
The mother laughed upon the child made gay by its ecstatic morn,
And yet the sages spake of It as of the Ancient and Unborn.

An Irish Face

© George William Russell

NOT her own sorrow only that hath place
Upon yon gentle face.
Too slight have been her childhoods years to gain
The imprint of such pain.

Remembrance

THERE were many burning hours on the heartsweet tide,
And we passed away from ourselves, forgetting all
The immortal moods that faded, the god who died,
Hastening away to the King on a distant call.

The Golden Age

WHEN the morning breaks above us
And the wild sweet stars have fled,
By the faery hands that love us
Wakened you and I will tread

The Christ-sword

THE WHILE my mad brain whirled around
She only looked with eyes elate
Immortal love at me. I found
How deep the glance of love can wound,
How cruel pity is to hate.

When

WHEN mine hour is come
Let no teardrop fall
And no darkness hover
Round me where I lie.

Hope in Failure

THOUGH now thou hast failed and art fallen, despair not because of defeat,
Though lost for a while be thy heaven and weary of earth be thy feet,
For all will be beauty about thee hereafter through sorrowful years,
And lovely the dews for thy chilling and ruby thy heart-drip of tears.