Love poems
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Don Juan: Canto The Thirteenth
© George Gordon Byron
I now mean to be serious;--it is time,
Since laughter now-a-days is deem'd too serious.
Imelda
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
……………….Sometimes
The young forgot the lessons they had learnt,
And lov'd when they should hate, like thee, Imelda! ~ Italy, a Poem
The Miracle Of The Corn
© Padraic Colum
SCENE: The interior of FARDORROUGHA'S house. The door at back R.; the hearth L.; the window R. is only conventionally represented.
What is actually shown is a bin for corn (corn in the sense of any kind of grain, as the word is used in Ireland the breadstuff and the symbol of fertility), shelves with vessels, benches, and a shrine. The bin projects from back C.; the shelves
with vessels are each side of the bin; the shrine is R.; it holds a small statue of the Blessed Virgin, and a rosary of large beads hangs from it; the benches are R. and L. One is at the conventional fireplace, and the other is down from the conventional door.
All the persons concerned in the action are on the scene when it opens, and they remain on the scene. They only enter the action when they go up to where the bin is. Going back to the places they had on the benches takes them out of the action.
On the bench near the hearth sit the people of FARDORROUGHA'S household FARDORROUGHA, SHEILA, PAUDEEN, AISLINN. On the bench near the door sit the strangers three women, one of whom has a child with her, and SHAUN o' THE BOG. The people are dressed in greys and browns, and brown is the colour of the interior. The three women and SHAUN o' THE BOG are poorly dressed; the women are barefooted. PAUDEEN is dressed rudely, and sandals of hide are bound across his feet. FARDORROUGHA,
SHEILA, and AISLINN are comfortably dressed.
The Tears of Old May Day
© John Logan
Led by the jocund train of vernal hours
And vernal airs, uprose the gentle May;
Blushing she rose, and blushing rose the flowers
That sprung spontaneous in her genial ray.
Vanitas Vanitatum
© William Makepeace Thackeray
How spake of old the Royal Seer?
(His text is one I love to treat on.)
This life of ours he said is sheer
Mataiotes Mataioteton.
Geist's Grave
© Matthew Arnold
Four years!--and didst thou stay above
The ground, which hides thee now, but four?
And all that life, and all that love,
Were crowded, Geist! into no more?
Villion's Ballade Of Good Counsel, To His Friends Of Evil Life
© Andrew Lang
Your clothes, your hose, your broidery,
Your linen that the snow surpasses,
Or ere they're worn, off, off they fly,
'Tis all to taverns and to lasses!
A Lamentation
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Or ever the stars were made, or skies,
Grief was born, and the kinless night,
Mother of gods without form or name.
And light is born out of heaven and dies,
And one day knows not anothers light,
But night is one, and her shape the same.
Spring In Nazareth
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
"THE Spring is come!" a shepherd saith;
Sing, sweet Mary,
"The Spring is come to Nazareth
And swift the Summer hurrieth."
Sing low, the barley and the corn!
The Road Of The Refugees
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Listen to the tramping! Oh, God of pity, listen!
Can we kneel at prayer, sleep all unmolested,
Soldiers To Pacifists
© Katharine Lee Bates
NOT ours to clamor shame on you,
Nor fling a bitter blame on you,
The Knight of St. John
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Ere down yon blue Carpathian hills
The sun shall sink again,
Farewell to life and all its ills,
Farewell to cell and chain!
Age And Death
© Emma Lazarus
Come closer, kind, white, long-familiar friend,
Embrace me, fold me to thy broad, soft breast.
A Hyde Park Larrikin
© Henry Kendall
Most likely you have stuck to tracts
Flushed through with flaming curses -
I judge you, neighbour, by your acts -
So don't you damn my verses.
Psyche
© Robert Laurence Binyon
She is not fair, as some are fair,
Cold as the snow, as sunshine gay:
On her clear brow, come grief what may,
She suffers not too stern an air;
When Underneath the Brown Dead Grass
© Henry Kendall
When underneath the brown dead grass
My weary bones are laid,
A Dream Of Summer
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Bland as the morning breath of June
The southwest breezes play;
Hark, All Ye Lovely Saints Above
© Thomas Weelkes
Hark, all ye lovely saints above,
Diana hath agreed with Love,
His fiery weapon to remove. Fa la.
Do you not see
How they agree?
Then cease, fair ladies; why weep ye? Fa la.
