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You Come to Me
Author: William R. Sweetling

 
 

 

There are moments special
You come to me: when nestled
In wondrous imagery,
As in lovers’ dreams; lingering
With your quiet beauty
In dawn’s brooding-- come to me.

As morning’s ache whispers,
Your gentle vapors stir
My desire’s latency; your
Fires creating ardour,
Spreading across time spurned
Infiltrate wider yearns.
When Zephyr troubles me
With fond ken of cuddling
In your arms, reminisced
Echoes cry: “With you missed”.
Other fancies unchecked,
Cleansed in love’s sweet driblets
Surely enjoy warmth, same
As I from your loin’s blaze.

Untread dreams of you soothe
My emptied heart’s wounds, move
Misty ween bethinking
My equilibrant’s paean
For your breast’s waters calm,
Bathed in love’s broader psalm.
Sweet reveries engaged,
Wafting ‘cross memory’s glade,
Blend craving’s chose fragrance
With your ambrosial cense.
Your alluring twinkle tools
Evening’s rethink dispelled jewels;
Aery puffs caressing
Moon’s face, as yours pet me.

Moments special blooming,
Many more we’ll soon green;
Treasure-trove overflows –
Memories stowed, those foretold –
Ever your love want’s dream,
Sleep or wake, come to me.

 

 

You'll Love Me Yet
Author: 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!

 
 
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