Love poems
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She Tells Her Love
© Robert Graves
She tells her love while half asleep,
In the dark hours,
With half-words whispered low:
As Earth stirs in her winter sleep
When I'm Killed
© Robert Graves
When Im killed, dont think of me
Buried there in Cambrin Wood,
Nor as in Zion think of me
With the Intolerable Good.
And theres one thing that I know well,
Im damned if Ill be damned to Hell!
Two Fusiliers
© Robert Graves
And have we done with War at last?
Well, weve been lucky devils both,
And theres no need of pledge or oath
To bind our lovely friendship fast,
By firmer stuff
Close bound enough.
The Leap Of Roushan Beg. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
His chestnut steed with four white feet,
Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,
Son of the road and bandit chief,
Seeking refuge and relief,
Up the mountain pathway flew.
Love Without Hope
© Robert Graves
Love without hope, as when the young bird-catcher
Swept off his tall hat to the Squire's own daughter,
So let the imprisoned larks escape and fly
Singing about her head, as she rode by.
To Lucasta on Going to the War - For the Fourth Time
© Robert Graves
It doesnt matter whats the cause,
What wrong they say were righting,
A curse for treaties, bonds and laws,
When were to do the fighting!
Antonio Melidori
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
SCENE I.
[A place not far from the summit of Mount Psiloriti, in the Isle of Candia. Philota discovered with a basket of grapes upon her head; she looks eagerly upward. Time, a little before sunset.]
PHILOTA.
Love and Black Magic
© Robert Graves
To the woods, to the woods is the wizard gone;
In his grotto the maiden sits alone.
She gazes up with a weary smile
At the rafter-hanging crocodile,
Lost Love
© Robert Graves
His eyes are quickened so with grief,
He can watch a grass or leaf
Every instant grow; he can
Clearly through a flint wall see,
Mans Discontent
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
And the languid breeze was perfumed by a rose's stolen breath;
'Twas the last white bud of Summer that escaped the hand of death,
And my sweet, I feared to meet her for my yesterday of scorn;
Then I flung myself beside her as she knelt amid the corn.
She only said To red and gold grew the green young leaf of Spring.
The rose filled the dead cowslip's throne; now poppy reigns a king.
Love Sonnet XXV
© Zora Bernice May Cross
I lifted up my bowed and weeping head,
Borrowing comfort from your arms and eyes.
I felt your lips, long-climbing to my own,
And knew the best of me was not all dead.
I, who had fallen out of Paradise,
Was placed by you upon my rightful throne.
Mermaid, Dragon, Fiend
© Robert Graves
In my childhood rumors ran
Of a world beyond our door
Terrors to the life of man
That the highroad held in store.
Forgotten
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
FORGOTTEN! Can it be a few swift rounds
Of Time's great chariot wheels have crushed to naught
The memory of those fearful sights and sounds,
With speechless misery fraught--
Wherethro' we hope to gain the Hesperian height,
Where Freedom smiles in light?
To Juan at the Winter Solstice
© Robert Graves
There is one story and one story only
That will prove worth your telling,
Whether as learned bard or gifted child;
To it all lines or lesser gauds belong
That startle with their shining
Such common stories as they stray into.
Call It a Good Marriage
© Robert Graves
Call it a good marriage -
For no one ever questioned
Her warmth, his masculinity,
Their interlocking views;
Counting The Beats
© Robert Graves
You, love, and I,
(He whispers) you and I,
And if no more than only you and I
What care you or I?
I'd Love To Be A Fairy's Child
© Robert Graves
Children born of fairy stock
Never need for shirt or frock,
Never want for food or fire,
Always get their hearts desire:
Down, Wanton, Down!
© Robert Graves
Down, wanton, down! Have you no shame
That at the whisper of Love's name,
Or Beauty's, presto! up you raise
Your angry head and stand at gaze?
The Familist's Hymn
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Father! to Thy suffering poor
Strength and grace and faith impart,
Night Burial In The Forest
© Duncan Campbell Scott
Lay him down where the fern is thick and fair.
Fain was he for life, here lies he low:
With the blood washed clean from his brow and his beautiful hair,
Lay him here in the dell where the orchids grow.
