Love poems

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The Fury Of Cooks

© Anne Sexton

Herbs, garlic,
cheese, please let me in!
Souffles, salad,
Parker House rolls,

Oh, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave!
The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save,
When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain,
And the ghosts of our fathers looked down on the slain!

Earlier Poems : Hymn Of The Moravian Nuns Of Bethlehem

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

"Take thy banner! and if e'er
Thou shouldst press the soldier's bier,
And the muffled drum should beat
To the tread of mournful feet,
Then this crimson flag shall be
Martial cloak and shroud for thee."

Ghost Glen

© Henry Kendall

"Shut your ears, stranger, or turn from Ghost Glen now,
For the paths are grown over, untrodden by men now;
Shut your ears, stranger," saith the grey mother, crooning
Her sorcery runic, when sets the half-moon in.

The Interrogation Of The Man Of Many Hearts

© Anne Sexton

She's the one I carried my bones to
and built a house that was just a cot
and built a life that was over an hour
and built a castle where no one lives
and built, in the end, a song
to go with the ceremony.

Small Wire

© Anne Sexton

My faith
is a great weight
hung on a small wire,
as doth the spider

Verse

© Walter Savage Landor

Past ruin'd Ilion Helen lives,
Alcestis rises from the shades;
Verse calls them forth; 'tis verse that gives
Immortal youth to mortal maids.

Some Foreign Letters

© Anne Sexton

I knew you forever and you were always old,
soft white lady of my heart. Surely you would scold
me for sitting up late, reading your letters,
as if these foreign postmarks were meant for me.

The Fury Of Flowers And Worms

© Anne Sexton

Let the flowers make a journey
on Monday so that I can see
ten daisies in a blue vase
with perhaps one red ant

Translation From Catullus

© George Gordon Byron

[Lugete, Veneres, Cupidinesque, &c.]
Ye Cupids, droop each little head,
Nor let your wings with joy be spread;
My Lesbia's favourite bird is dead,

The Lost Ingredient

© Anne Sexton

Today is made of yesterday, each time I steal
toward rites I do not know, waiting for the lost
ingredient, as if salt or money or even lust
would keep us calm and prove us whole at last.

In The Deep Museum

© Anne Sexton

My God, my God, what queer corner am I in?
Didn't I die, blood running down the post,
lungs gagging for air, die there for the sin
of anyone, my sour mouth giving up the ghost?

A Spirit Present

© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

IF, coming from that unknown sphere
Where I believe thou art,--
The world unseen which girds our world
So close, yet so apart,--

The Division Of Parts

© Anne Sexton

1.
Mother, my Mary Gray,
once resident of Gloucester
and Essex County,

Sonnet: Oh! How I Love, On A Fair Summer's Eve

© John Keats

Oh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve,

When streams of light pour down the golden west,

The Balance Wheel

© Anne Sexton

Where I waved at the sky
And waited your love through a February sleep,
I saw birds swinging in, watched them multiply
Into a tree, weaving on a branch, cradling a keep

A Day In The Castle Of Envy

The castle walls are full of eyes,
And not a mouse may creep unseen.
All the window slits are spies;
And the towers stand sentinel

The Robin Redbreast

But hearken! Yonder russet bird among
The crimson clusters of the homely thorn
Still bubbles o'er with little rills of song-
A blending of sweet hope and resignation:
Even so, when life of love and youth is shorn,
One friend becomes its last, best consolation.

A Destiny

And his two sons in careless beauty grew,
Like wild-flowers in his path: he mark'd them not,
Nor reck'd he what they needed, learnt, or knew,
Or what might be on earth their future lot;
But they died young--which is a thought of rest!
Unscorn'd, untempted, undefiled--so best.