Love poems
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The Glory
© Edward Thomas
The glory of the beauty of the morning, -
The cuckoo crying over the untouched dew;
The blackbird that has found it, and the dove
That tempts me on to something sweeter than love;
Valentine In Form Of Ballade
© Andrew Lang
Spring, Swallow, South Wind, even so,
Their various voice combine;
But that they crave on ME bestow,
To be your Valentine.
A Grey Day
© Roderic Quinn
THE long still day is ending
In hollow and on height,
The lighthouse seaward sending
White rays of steady light;
Rain
© Edward Thomas
Rain, midnight rain, nothing but the wild rain
On this bleak hut, and solitude, and me
Remembering again that I shall die
And neither hear the rain nor give it thanks
Old Man
© Edward Thomas
Old Man, or Lads-Love, - in the name theres nothing
To one that knows not Lads-Love, or Old Man,
The hoar green feathery herb, almost a tree,
Growing with rosemary and lavender.
Follow Your Saint
© Thomas Campion
Follow your saint, follow with accents sweet;
Haste you, sad notes, fall at her flying feet.
No One So Much As You
© Edward Thomas
No one so much as you
Loves this my clay,
Or would lament as you
Its dying day.
Sonnet XLIII: While From the Dizzy Precipice
© Mary Darby Robinson
While from the dizzy precipice I gaze,
The world receding from my pensive eyes,
Like the Touch of Rain
© Edward Thomas
Like the touch of rain she was
On a man's flesh and hair and eyes
When the joy of walking thus
Has taken him by surprise:
Lights Out
© Edward Thomas
I have come to the borders of sleep,
The unfathomable deep
Forest where all must lose
Their way, however straight,
Or winding, soon or late;
They cannot choose.
A Wish
© Alexander Pushkin
The days drag on, each moment multiplies
Within my wounded heart the pain and sadness
Of an unhappy love and, dark, gives rise.
To sleepless dreams, the haunting dreams of madness
Celandine
© Edward Thomas
But this was a dream; the flowers were not true,
Until I stooped to pluck from the grass there
One of five petals and I smelt the juice
Which made me sigh, remembering she was no more,
Gone like a never perfectly recalled air.
Bob's Lane
© Edward Thomas
Women he liked, did shovel-bearded Bob,
Old Farmer Hayward of the Heath, but he
Loved horses. He himself was like a cob
And leather-coloured. Also he loved a tree.
Toys
© Margaret Widdemer
SHE loves the flowers, the wind that bends the fir;
When the Spring comes she dances; and her mirth
Beauty
© Edward Thomas
WHAT does it mean? Tired, angry, and ill at ease,
No man, woman, or child alive could please
Me now. And yet I almost dare to laugh
Because I sit and frame an epitaph--
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: LI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
We planted love, and lo it bred a brood
Of lusts and vanities and senseless joys.
We planted love, and you have gathered food
As the Team's Head- Brass
© Edward Thomas
As the team's head-brass flashed out on the turn
The lovers disappeared into the wood.
I sat among the boughs of the fallen elm
That strewed the angle of the fallow, and
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. Interlude V.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
A strain of music closed the tale,
A low, monotonous, funeral wail,
That with its cadence, wild and sweet,
Made the long Saga more complete.
A Cameo
© Madison Julius Cawein
Why speak of Giamschid rubies
Whence rosy starlight drips?
I know a richer crimson,--
The ruby of her lips.
