Love poems
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The End
© David Herbert Lawrence
If I could have put you in my heart,
If but I could have wrapped you in myself,
How glad I should have been!
And now the chart
The Ship of Death
© David Herbert Lawrence
And it is time to go, to bid farewell
to one's own self, and find an exit
from the fallen self.
Whales Weep Not!
© David Herbert Lawrence
All the whales in the wider deeps, hot are they, as they urge
on and on, and dive beneath the icebergs.
The right whales, the sperm-whales, the hammer-heads, the killers
there they blow, there they blow, hot wild white breath out of
the sea!
On Miss M--'s's Dancing
© William Shenstone
Of all that gives politeness birth,
Of all that claims to please,
In motion, manners, or in mirth,
The surest source is ease.
A Love Song
© David Herbert Lawrence
Reject me not if I should say to you
I do forget the sounding of your voice,
I do forget your eyes that searching through
The mists perceive our marriage, and rejoice.
Cynara
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
Last night, ah, yesternight, betwixt her lips and mine
There fell thy shadow, Cynara! thy breath was shed
Upon my soul between the kisses and the wine;
And I was desolate and sick of an old passion,
Lies About Love
© David Herbert Lawrence
We are a liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.
The Two Birth Nights
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Bright glittering lights are gleaming in yonder mansion proud,
And within its walls are gathered a gemmed and jewelled crowd;
Robes of airy gauze and satin, diamonds and rubies bright,
Rich festoons of glowing flowerstruly tis a wondrous sight.
Elegy VI. To a Lady, On the Language of Birds
© William Shenstone
Come then, Dione, let us range the grove,
The science of the feather'd choirs explore
Hear linnets argue, larks descant of love,
And blame the gloom of solitude, no more.
The Letters
© Eileen Carney Hulme
I wonder if
you keep the letters still,
spidery and blotted
now, like old days
just withered away.
Zoheyr
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Woe is me for 'Ommi 'Aufa! Woe for the tents of her
lost on thy stony plain, Durráj, on thine, Mutethéllemi!
In Rákmatéyn I found our dwelling, faint lines how desolate,
tent--markstraced like the vein--tracings blue on the wrists of her.
Portrait Number Five: Against A New York Summer
© Jack Gilbert
I'd walk her home after work
buying roses and talking of Bechsteins.
She was full of soul.
Her small room was gorged with heat
The Forgotten Dialect Of The Heart
© Jack Gilbert
How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
Tear It Down
© Jack Gilbert
We find out the heart only by dismantling what
the heart knows. By redefining the morning,
we find a morning that comes just after darkness.
We can break through marriage into marriage.
Maud II
© Alfred Tennyson
O that 'twere possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!
One Day And Another: A Lyrical Eclogue Part I
© Madison Julius Cawein
Herein the dearness of her is;
The thirty perfect days of June
Made one, in maiden loveliness
Were not more sweet to clasp and kiss,
With love not more in tune.
Stern Truths Transfigured
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THOSE mountain forms of giant girth
Are rooted deep in moveless earth;
But lo! their yearning heights withdrawn,
Are melting in soft seas of dawn.
The Great Fires
© Jack Gilbert
Love is apart from all things.
Desire and excitement are nothing beside it.
It is not the body that finds love.
What leads us there is the body.
A Terre (being the philosophy of many soldiers)
© Wilfred Owen
Sit on the bed. I'm blind, and three parts shell.
Be careful; can't shake hands now; never shall.
Both arms have mutinied against me,-brutes.
My fingers fidget like ten idle brats.
His Mother
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
In the first dawn she lifted from her bed
The holy silver of her noble head,
And listened, listened, listened for his tread.
'Too soon, too soon!' she murmured, 'Yet I'll keep
My vigil longer thou, O tender Sleep,
Art but the joy of those who wake and weep!
