Love poems
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The Hueless Love
© George Meredith
Unto that love must we through fire attain,
Which those two held as breath of common air;
The hands of whom were given in bond elsewhere;
Whom Honour was untroubled to restrain.
Sonnet XIV: Come, Soft Aeolian Harp
© Mary Darby Robinson
Come, soft Aeolian harp, while zephyr plays
Along the meek vibration of thy strings,
As twilight's hand her modest mantle brings,
Blending with sober grey, the western blaze!
Sonnet XIII: Bring, Brick to Deck My Brow
© Mary Darby Robinson
Bring, bring to deck my brow, ye Sylvan girls,
A roseate wreath; nor for my waving hair
The costly band of studded gems prepare,
Of sparkling crysolite or orient pearls:
Sonnet XXVIII: My Letters
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
My letters - all dead paper, mute and white!
And yet they seem alive and quivering
Against my tremulous hands which loose the string
And let them drop down on my knee to-night,
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: VI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
DEPRECIATING HER BEAUTY
I love not thy perfections. When I hear
Thy beauty blazoned, and the common tongue
Cheapening with vulgar praise a lip, an ear,
Sonnet XI: O! Reason!
© Mary Darby Robinson
O! Reason! vaunted Sovreign of the mind!
Thou pompous vision with a sounding name!
Can'st thou, the soul's rebellious passions tame!
Can'st thou in spells the vagrant fancy bind?
Sonnet X: Dang'rous to Hear
© Mary Darby Robinson
Dang'rous to hear, is that melodious tongue,
And fatal to the sense those murd'rous eyes,
Where in a sapphire sheath, Love's arrow lies,
Himself conceal'd the crystal haunts among!
May, 1917
© John Jay Chapman
THE earth is damp: in everything
I taste the bitter breath of pallid spring.
Sonnet VIII: Why, Through Each Aching Vein
© Mary Darby Robinson
Why, through each aching vein, with lazy pace
Thus steals the languid fountain of my heart,
While, from its source, each wild convulsive start
Tears the scorch'd roses from my burning face?
The Last Eve Of Summer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Summer's last sun nigh unto setting shines
Through yon columnar pines,
And on the deepening shadows of the lawn
Its golden lines are drawn.
John Farrell
© George Essex Evans
The pen falls from his nerveless hand,
The light is fading from his eyes,
Sonnet VI: Is It to Love
© Mary Darby Robinson
Is it to love, to fix the tender gaze,
To hide the timid blush, and steal away;
To shun the busy world, and waste the day
In some rude mountain's solitary maze?
Sonnet V: O! How Can Love
© Mary Darby Robinson
O! How can LOVE exulting Reason queil!
How fades each nobler passion from his gaze!
E'en Fame, that cherishes the Poet's lays,
That fame, ill-fated Sappho lov'd so well.
A Question Answered
© Alfred Austin
I saw the lark at break of day
Rise from its dewy bed,
And, winged with melody, away
Circle to Heaven o'erhead.
Sonnet to Ingratitude
© Mary Darby Robinson
He that's ungrateful, has no guilt but one;
All other crimes may pass for virtues in him.
- YOUNG.
Wandering Singers
© Sarojini Naidu
WHERE the voice of the wind calls our wandering feet,
Through echoing forest and echoing street,
Ode To Sleep
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
With a gray fleetness, moaning the dead day;
The wings of Silence overfolding space,
Droop with dusk grandeur from the heavenly steep,
And through the stillness gleams thy starry face,
Serenest Angel--Sleep!
Sonnet IX: Ye, Who in Alleys Green
© Mary Darby Robinson
Ye, who in alleys green and leafy bow'rs,
Sport, the rude children of fantastic birth;
Where frolic nymphs, and shaggy tribes of mirth,
In clam'rous revels waste the midnight hours;
The Star
© Edith Nesbit
I said, "Now my brows are laurelled, my hands filled full of their gold,
I will sing the starry songs that these earthworms bade withhold.
It is time to sing of my star!" for I dreamed that my star still shone,
Then I lifted my eyes in my triumph. Night! night! and my star was gone.
