Love poems
/ page 1028 of 1285 /
Helen In Hollywood
© Judy Grahn
She writes in red red lipstick
on the window of her body,
long for me, oh need me!
Parts her lips like a lotus.
Jigsaw Puzzles and You
© Anastasia Clark
There were long hyphens in our day-
When no one spoke; no one exhaledAs we contemplated the broken puzzles-
The broken tiles all over the floorSome might have called us mad-
Insane- in this ceramic nightmareOf yoga knees and bloody feet-
Uhland's
© Eugene Field
There were three cavaliers that went over the Rhine,
And gayly they called to the hostess for wine.
"And where is thy daughter? We would she were here,--
Go fetch us that maiden to gladden our cheer!"
Yvytot
© Eugene Field
Where wail the waters in their flaw
A spectre wanders to and fro,
And evermore that ghostly shore
Bemoans the heir of Yvytot.
With two spoons for two spoons
© Eugene Field
How trifling shall these gifts appear
Among the splendid many
That loving friends now send to cheer
Harvey and Ellen Jenney.
With Trumpet and Drum
© Eugene Field
With big tin trumpet and little red drum,
Marching like soldiers, the children come!
It 's this way and that way they circle and file---
My! but that music of theirs is fine!
To A Lady Who Commanded Me To Send Her An Account In Verse
© Mary Barber
How I succeed, you kindly ask;
Yet set me on a grievous Task,
When you oblige me to rehearse,
The Censures past upon my Verse.
With brutus in st. jo
© Eugene Field
Of all the opry-houses then obtaining in the West
The one which Milton Tootle owned was, by all odds, the best;
Milt, being rich, was much too proud to run the thing alone,
So he hired an "acting manager," a gruff old man named Krone--
Entangled
© Mathilde Blind
I STOOD as one enchanted,
All in the forest deep:
As one that wond'ring wanders,
Dream-bound within his sleep.
Two valentines
© Eugene Field
There were three cavaliers, all handsome and true,
On Valentine's day came a maiden to woo,
And quoth to your mother: "Good-morrow, my dear,
We came with some songs for your daughter to hear!"
Two idylls from bion the smyrnean
© Eugene Field
Once a fowler, young and artless,
To the quiet greenwood came;
Full of skill was he and heartless
In pursuit of feathered game.
And betimes he chanced to see
Eros perching in a tree.
Chloris
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
WHAT time the rosy-flushing West
Sleeps soft on copse and dingle,
Wherein the sunset shadows rest,
Or richly float and mingle;
To emma abbott
© Eugene Field
There--let thy hands be folded
Awhile in sleep's repose;
The patient hands that wearied not,
But earnestly and nobly wrought
To cinna
© Eugene Field
Cinna, the great Venusian told
In songs that will not die
How in Augustan days of old
Your love did glorify
To a Usurper
© Eugene Field
Aha! a traitor in the camp,
A rebel strangely bold,--
A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp,
Not more than four years old!
The White Lady
© Dorothy Parker
I cannot rest, I cannot rest
In straight and shiny wood,
My woven hands upon my breast-
The dead are all so good!
To A Sexton
© William Wordsworth
LET thy wheel-barrow alone--
Wherefore, Sexton, piling still
In thy bone-house bone on bone?
'Tis already like a hill
