Love poems
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In Praise Of Writing Letters
© Anne Kingsmill Finch
Blest be the Man! his Memory at least,
Who found the Art, thus to unfold his Breast,
And taught succeeding Times an easy way
Their secret Thoughts by Letters to convey;
To baffle Absence, and secure Delight,
Which, till that Time, was limited to Sight.
The Microbe
© Hilaire Belloc
The Microbe is so very small
You cannot make him out at all,
But many sanguine people hope
To see him through a microscope.
Whom The Gods Love
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Whom the gods love die young. Ah, do not doubt of it.
Laura did well to die. Our loss was a gain for her,
Ours who so loved her laughter, ours who at thought of it
Shrink from a wound yet tender, wailing in vain for her.
A La Bourbon. Done Moy Plus De Pitie Ou Plus De Creaulte, Car Sans Ci Ie Ne Puis Pas Viure, Ne Morir
© Richard Lovelace
I.
Divine Destroyer, pitty me no more,
The Scorpion
© Hilaire Belloc
The Scorpion is as black as soot,
He dearly loves to bite;
He is a most unpleasant brute
To find in bed at night.
Boris Godunov
© Alexander Pushkin
Boyars, The People, Inspectors, Officers, Attendants, Guests,
a Boy in attendance on Prince Shuisky, a Catholic Priest, a
Polish Noble, a Poet, an Idiot, a Beggar, Gentlemen, Peasants,
Guards, Russian, Polish, and German Soldiers, a Russian
Prisoner of War, Boys, an old Woman, Ladies, Serving-women.
Balin and Balan
© Alfred Tennyson
Then Balan added to their Order lived
A wealthier life than heretofore with these
And Balin, till their embassage returned.
Heroic Poem in Praise of Wine
© Hilaire Belloc
But since I would not, since I could not stay,
Let me remember even in this my day
How, when the ephemeral vision's lure is past
All, all, must face their Passion at the last
Hello, Willie Shoemaker
© Charles Bukowski
the Chinaman said dont take the hardware
and gave me a steak I couldnt cut (except the fat)
Worth Forest
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Come, Prudence, you have done enough to--day--
The worst is over, and some hours of play
We both have earned, even more than rest, from toil;
Our minds need laughter, as a spent lamp oil,
The Glove and the Lions
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport,
And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court;
The nobles filled the benches, and the ladies in their pride,
And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed:
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.
Coole Park And Ballylee, 1931
© William Butler Yeats
Under my window-ledge the waters race,
Otters below and moor-hens on the top,
In a Lady's Album
© Marcus Clarke
WHAT can I write in thee, O dainty book,
About whose daintiness faint perfume lingers
The Distant Ship
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Look round thee!âo'er the slumbering deep
A solemn glory broods;
A fire hath touch'd the beacon-steep,
And all the golden woods;
In the footsteps of the walking air
© Kenneth Patchen
In the footsteps of the walking air
Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of awe
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying.
Meditation
© Mikhail Lermontov
With sadness I survey our present generation!
Their future seems so empty, dark, and cold,
What Needeth These Threat'ning Words
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
What needeth these threnning words and wasted wind?
All this cannot make me restore my prey.
To rob your good, iwis, is not my mind,
Nor causeless your fair hand did I display.
The Young Man's Song
© Sydney Thompson Dobell
At last the curse has run its date!
The heavens grow clear above,
And on the purple plains of Hate,
We'll build the throne of Love!
The Long Love
© Sir Thomas Wyatt
The long love that in my thought doth harbour,
And in mine heart doth keep his residence,
Into my face presseth with bold pretence,
And therein campeth, spreading his banner.
