Maiden's Heart.

The sweet, fresh, red rose
of a maiden's heart
That opes in the dewy
ecstasy of love.

by Robert Crawford.

Sometimes with the Heart

Sometimes with the Heart
Seldom with the Soul
Scarcer once with the Might
Few - love at all.

by Emily Dickinson.

My Heart Is Not The Love One

My heart is not the love one, caged in that love
This is way, the path through which,
not one but two worlds've gone

by Rasul Mir.

Make not of thy heart a casket,
Opening seldom, quick to close;
But of bread a wide-mouthed basket,
Or a cup that overflows.

by George MacDonald.

His Heart Was Darker Than The Starless Night

His Heart was darker than the starless night
For that there is a morn
But in this black Receptacle
Can be no Bode of Dawn

by Emily Dickinson.

My Heart You'Ve Taken

My heart you've taken, trap not my body,
O beautiful Shama, expose me not to.....
I look for you at Veernag through Ram Nagri

by Rasul Mir.

Take heart again. Joy may be lost awhile.
It is not always Spring.
And even now from some far Summer Isle
Hither the birds may wing.

by Madison Julius Cawein.

If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking,

If I can stop one heart from breaking,
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or cool one pain,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.

by Emily Dickinson.

My Heart You Stole

My heart you stole,
and left me a maiden.
With a blot in Ashes
I'll smear myself
and wander away,dear

Thee I'll hold by neck,
and squeuster away in heart
ike robe I'll cling

by Rasul Mir.

Many Red Devils Ran From My Heart

Many red devils ran from my heart
And out upon the page,
They were so tiny
The pen could mash them.
And many struggled in the ink.
It was strange
To write in this red muck
Of things from my heart.

by Stephen Crane.

The Heart Asks Pleasure First

The heart asks pleasure first
And then, excuse from pain-
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;

And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its Inquisitor,
The liberty to die.

by Emily Dickinson.

Heart, We Will Forget Him

Heart, we will forget him,
You and I, tonight!
You must forget the warmth he gave,
I will forget the light.
When you have done pray tell me,
Then I, my thoughts, will dim.
Haste! ‘lest while you’re lagging
I may remember him!

by Emily Dickinson.

With Rue My Heart Is Laden

With rue my heart is laden
For golden friends I had,
For many a rose-lipt maiden
And many a lightfoot lad.

By brooks too broad for leaping
The lightfoot boys are laid;
The rose-lipt girls are sleeping
In fields where roses fade.

by Alfred Edward Housman.

A Careless Heart

A little breath can make a prayer,
A little wind can take it
And turn it back again to air:
Then say, why should you make it ?

An ardent thought can make a word,
A little ear can hear it,
A careless heart forget it heard :
Then why keep ever near it ?

by Isaac Rosenberg.

Into My Heart An Air That Kills

Into my heart an air that kills
From yon far country blows:
What are those blue remembered hills,
What spires, what farms are those?

That is the land of lost content,
I see it shining plain,
The happy highways where I went
And cannot come again.

by Alfred Edward Housman.

There Is A Candle In Your Heart

There is a candle in the heart of man, waiting to be kindled.
In separation from the Friend, there is a cut waiting to be
stitched.
O, you who are ignorant of endurance and the burning
fire of love--
Love comes of its own free will, it can't be learned
in any school.

by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi.

‘a Worm Fed On The Heart Of Corinth'

A worm fed on the heart of Corinth,
Babylon and Rome:
Not Paris raped tall Helen,
But this incestuous worm,
Who lured her vivid beauty
To his amorphous sleep.
England! Famous as Helen
Is thy betrothal sung
To him the shadowless,
More amorous than Solomon.

by Isaac Rosenberg.

The Dreams Of My Heart"

The dreams of my heart and my mind pass,
Nothing stays with me long,
But I have had from a child
The deep solace of song;

If that should ever leave me,
Let me find death and stay
With things whose tunes are played out and forgotten
Like the rain of yesterday.

by Sara Teasdale.

My Heart Leaps Up

My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.

by William Wordsworth.

The Beauty Of The Heart

The beauty of the heart
is the lasting beauty:
its lips give to drink
of the water of life.
Truly it is the water,
that which pours,
and the one who drinks.
All three become one when
your talisman is shattered.
That oneness you can't know
by reasoning.

by Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi.

My Heart Is Heavy

My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree,
But I can never give you one --
My songs do not belong to me.

Yet in the evening, in the dusk
When moths go to and fro,
In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen,
Take it, no one will know.

by Sara Teasdale.

This Heart That Broke So Long

145

This heart that broke so long—
These feet that never flagged—
This faith that watched for star in vain,
Give gently to the dead—

Hound cannot overtake the Hare
That fluttered panting, here—
Nor any schoolboy rob the nest
Tenderness builded there.

by Emily Dickinson.

She turned the page of wounds and death
With trembling fingers. In a breath
The gladness of her life became
Naught but a memory and a name.

Farewell! Farewell! I might not share
The perils it was yours to dare.
Dauntless you fronted death: for me
Rests to face life as fearlessly.

by Francis William Bourdillon.

To His Heart, Bidding It Have No Fear

BE you still, be you still, trembling heart;
Remember the wisdom out of the old days:
Him who trembles before the flame and the flood,
And the winds that blow through the starry ways,
Let the starry winds and the flame and the flood
Cover over and hide, for he has no part
With the lonely, majestical multitude.

by William Butler Yeats.

Lover's Gifts Iv: She Is Near To My Heart

She is near to my heart as the meadow-flower to the earth; she is
sweet to me as sleep is to tired limbs. My love for her is my life
flowing in its fullness, like a river in autumn flood, running with
serene abandonment. My songs are one with my love, like the murmur
of a stream, that sings with all its waves and current.

by Rabindranath Tagore.

On A Cornelian Heart Which Was Broken

Ill-fated Heart! And can it be,
That thou should'st thus be rent in vain?
Have years of care for thine and thee
Alike been all employ'd in vain?

Yet precious seems each shatter'd part
And every fragment dearer grown
Since he who wears thee feels thou art
A fitter emblem of his own.

March 16, 1812

by George Gordon Byron.

A Song [o Heart Of Mine-If I Were But A Swallow]

O heart of mine-if I were but a swallow-
A thing so fearless, swift of flight, and free-
On wings unwearied I would find and follow
Some path that led to thee!

Were I a rose out in the garden growing
My sweetness I would give the vagrant breeze-
For he, perchance, might meet thee all unknowing-
Yet bring thee memories.

by Virna Sheard.

The Heart Is Deeper Than The Ocean

The heart is deeper than the ocean -
Who can fathom its mysteries?

Storms come and go on its surface,
While fleets sail through it, Their crews wielding their oars.

Inside the heart are the fourteen realms,
Stretched like canvas tents.

Only the on who knows These deeper secrets of the heart,
Can know the Creator, O Bahu!

by Sultan Bahu.

The Heart Has Narrow Banks

928

The Heart has narrow Banks
It measures like the Sea
In mighty—unremitting Bass
And Blue Monotony

Till Hurricane bisect
And as itself discerns
Its sufficient Area
The Heart convulsive learns

That Calm is but a Wall
Of unattempted Gauze
An instant's Push demolishes
A Questioning—dissolves.

by Emily Dickinson.

Has My Heart Gone To Sleep?

Has my heart gone to sleep?
Have the beehives of my dreams
stopped working, the waterwheel
of the mind run dry,
scoops turning empty,
only shadow inside?

No, my heart is not asleep.
It is awake, wide awake.
Not asleep, not dreaming—
its eyes are opened wide
watching distant signals, listening
on the rim of vast silence.

by Antonio Machado.

The Heart Would Like To Be

The heart would like to be a star -
Not in a night, when from the darkened skies
These heaven's bodies, like the living eyes,
Look at the sleepy earth so far -

But in a day, when screened, as by a smoke
Of the ever scorching sunny rods,
They burn just brighter - like the gods -
In the ether, crystalline and stoic.

by Fyodor Ivanovich Tyutchev.

My Heart At Evening

Toward evening you hear the cry of the bats.
Two b l a c k h o r ses bound in the pasture,
The red maple rustles,
The walker along the road sees ahead the small
tavern.
Nuts and young wine taste delicious,
Delicious: to stagger drunk into the darkening woods.
Village bells, painful to hear, echo through the black
fir branches,
Dew forms on the face.

by Georg Trakl.

If The Heart Of A Man

If the heart of a man is deprest with cares,
The mist is dispell'd when a woman appears;
Like the notes of a fiddle, she sweetly, sweetly
Raises the spirits, and charms our ears.
Roses and lillies her cheeks disclose,
But her ripe lips are more sweet than those.
Press her,
Caress her,
With blisses,
Her kisses
Dissolve us in pleasure, and soft repose

by John Gay.

Poor Little Heart!

192

Poor little Heart!
Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!

Proud little Heart!
Did they forsake thee?
Be debonnaire! Be debonnaire!

Frail little Heart!
I would not break thee—
Could'st credit me? Could'st credit me?

Gay little Heart—
Like Morning Glory!
Wind and Sun—wilt thee array!

by Emily Dickinson.

Not with a club, the Heart is broken

Not with a club, the Heart is broken,
Nor with a stone;
A whip, so small you could not see it,
I've known

To lash the magic creature
Till it fell,
Yet that whip's name too noble
Then to tell.

Magnanimous of bird
By boy descried,
To sing unto the stone
Of which it died.
Next: The Only News I know

by Emily Dickinson.

Innocent heart, what has happened to you?
Alas, what is the cure to this pain?

We are interested, and they are displeased,
Oh Lord, what is this affair?

I too possess a tongue-
just ask me what I want to say.

Though there is none present without you,
then oh God, what is this noise about?

I expected faith from those
who do not even know what faith is.

by Mirza Ghalib.

My Heart, When First The Black-Bird Sings

MY heart, when first the blackbird sings,
My heart drinks in the song:
Cool pleasure fills my bosom through
And spreads each nerve along.

My bosom eddies quietly,
My heart is stirred and cool
As when a wind-moved briar sweeps
A stone into a pool

But unto thee, when thee I meet,
My pulses thicken fast,
As when the maddened lake grows black
And ruffles in the blast.

by Robert Louis Stevenson.

My Heart, When First The Black-Bird Sings

MY heart, when first the blackbird sings,
My heart drinks in the song:
Cool pleasure fills my bosom through
And spreads each nerve along.

My bosom eddies quietly,
My heart is stirred and cool
As when a wind-moved briar sweeps
A stone into a pool

But unto thee, when thee I meet,
My pulses thicken fast,
As when the maddened lake grows black
And ruffles in the blast.

by Robert Louis Stevenson.

Secrets Of The Heart

Open, my heart, thy ruddy valves;
It is thy master calls;
Let me go down, and, curious, trace
Thy labyrinthine halls.
Open, O heart, and let me view
The secrets of thy den;
Myself unto myself now show
With introspective ken.
Expose thyself, thou covered nest
Of passions, and be seen;
Stir up thy brood, that in unrest
Are ever piping keen.
Ah! what a motley multitude,
Magnanimous and mean!

by Charles Heavysege.

Proud Of My Broken Heart

Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it.
Proud of the pain, I did not feel? till thee.
Proud of my night, since thou, with moons, dos't shake it.
Not to partake thy passion, -my humility

Thou can'st not boast, like Jesus, drunken without companion
Was the strong cup of anguish brewed for the Nazarene
Thou can'st not pierce tradition with the peerless puncture,
See! I usurped thy crucifix to honor mine!

by Emily Dickinson.