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The Book Of Love Post by :Truman Category :Poems Author :Myrtle Reed Date :November 2011 Read :1526

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The Book Of Love

I dreamt I saw an angel in the night,
And she held forth Love's book, limned o'er with gold,
That I might read of days of chivalry
And how men's hearts were wont to thrill of old.

Half wondering, I turned the musty leaves,
For Love's book counts out centuries as years,
And here and there a page shone out undimmed,
And here and there a page was blurred with tears.

I read of Grief, Doubt, Silence unexplained--
Of many-featured Wrong, Distrust, and Blame,
Renunciation--bitterest of all--
And yet I wandered not beyond Love's name.

At last I cried to her who held the book,
So fair and calm she stood, I see her yet;
"Why write these things within this book of Love?
Why may we not pass onward and forget?"

Her voice was tender when she answered me:
"Half child, half woman, earthy as thou art,
How should'st thou dream that Love is never Love
Unless these things beat vainly on the heart?"

(The end)
Myrtle Reed's poem: Book Of Love

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Good-night, Sweetheart Good-night, Sweetheart

Good-night, Sweetheart
Good-night, Sweetheart; the wingèd hours have flown; I have forgotten all the world but thee. Across the moon-lit deep stars have shone, The surge sounds softly from the sleeping sea. Thy heart at last hath opened to Love's key; Remembered Aprils, glorious blooms have sown, And now there comes the questing honey bee. Good-night, Sweetheart; the wingèd hours have flown. My singing soul makes music in thine own,

The Year Of My Heart The Year Of My Heart

The Year Of My Heart
A sigh for the spring, full flowered, promised spring, Laid on the tender earth, and those dear days When apple blossoms gleamed against the blue! Ah, how the world of joyous robins sang: "I love but you, Sweetheart, I love but you!" A sigh for summer fled. In warm, sweet air Her thousand singers sped on shining wing; And all the inward life of budding grain Throbbed with a