Love poems

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Tease

© David Herbert Lawrence

I will give you all my keys,
You shall be my ch?telaine,
You shall enter as you please,
As you please shall go again.

HERE, O my heart, let us burn the dear dreams that are dead,
Here in this wood let us fashion a funeral pyre
Of fallen white petals and leaves that are mellow and red,
Here let us burn them in noon's flaming torches of fire.

Monologue of a Mother

© David Herbert Lawrence

This is the last of all, this is the last!
I must hold my hands, and turn my face to the fire,
I must watch my dead days fusing together in dross,
Shape after shape, and scene after scene from my past
Fusing to one dead mass in the sinking fire
Where the ash on the dying coals grows swiftly, like heavy moss.

Intimates

© David Herbert Lawrence

I handed her the mirror, and said:
Please address these questions to the proper person!
Please make all requests to head-quarters!
In all matters of emotional importance
please approach the supreme authority direct! -

The Nursing Sister

© Rudyard Kipling

Our sister sayeth such and such,
And we must bow to her behests.
Our sister toileth overmuch,
Our little maid that hath no breasts.

Birdcage Walk

© David Herbert Lawrence

When the wind blows her veil
And uncovers her laughter
I cease, I turn pale.
When the wind blows her veil

Some Advice To Those Who Will Serve Time In Prison

© Nazim Hikmet

If instead of being hanged by the neck

you're thrown inside

The Tree

© Jones Very

I love thee when thy swelling buds appear

And one by one their tender leaves unfold,

King Solomon And The Queen Of Sheba

© Vachel Lindsay

[The mens leader rises as he sees the Queen unveiling
and approaching a position that gives her half of the stage.]

Blue

© David Herbert Lawrence

The earth again like a ship steams out of the dark sea over
The edge of the blue, and the sun stands up to see us glide
Slowly into another day; slowly the rover
Vessel of darkness takes the rising tide.

Napoleon

© Victor Marie Hugo

Angel or demon! thou,whether of light
The minister, or darknessstill dost sway
This age of ours; thine eagle's soaring flight
Bears us, all breathless, after it away.

The Bride

© David Herbert Lawrence

My love looks like a girl to-night,
But she is old.
The plaits that lie along her pillow
Are not gold,
But threaded with filigree silver,
And uncanny cold.

The Mother's Question

© Edgar Albert Guest

When I was a boy, and it chanced to rain,

Mother would always watch for me;

Cruelty and Love

© David Herbert Lawrence

What large, dark hands are those at the window
Lifted, grasping in the yellow light
Which makes its way through the curtain web
At my heart to-night?

Thought

Thought, I love thought.
But not the juggling and twisting of already existent ideas
I despise that self-important game.
Thought is the welling up of unknown life into consciousness,

Trees In The Garden

And the ghostly, creamy coloured little tree of leaves
white, ivory white among the rambling greens
how evanescent, variegated elder, she hesitates on the green grass
as if, in another moment, she would disappear
with all her grace of foam!

To Belloc

For every tiny town or place

God made the stars especially;

Lui Et Elle

She is large and matronly
And rather dirty,
A little sardonic-looking, as if domesticity had driven her to it.
Though what she does, except lay four eggs at random in the garden once a year
And put up with her husband,
I don't know.