Love poems

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Lines on the Death of Edward John Trelawny

© Algernon Charles Swinburne

LAST high star of the years whose thunder
Still mens listening remembrance hears,
Last light left of our fathers years,
Watched with honour and hailed with wonder
Thee too then have the years borne under,
Thou too then hast regained thy peers.

Betrothed

© Louise Bogan

You have put your two hands upon me, and your mouth,
You have said my name as a prayer.
Here where trees are planted by the water
I have watched your eyes, cleansed from regret,
And your lips, closed over all that love cannot say,

Scarlet Flowers

© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster

A tired shop girl hurries by;
Their color seems to catch her eye;
She pauses, starts, and wistfully
She gazes up. It seems to me
That I can hear her longing sigh. . . .
A little shop girl hurries by.

Epitaph For A Romantic Woman

© Louise Bogan

She has attained the permanence
She dreamed of, where old stones lie sunning.
Untended stalks blow over her
Even and swift, like young men running.

Juan's Song

© Louise Bogan

When beauty breaks and falls asunder
I feel no grief for it, but wonder.
When love, like a frail shell, lies broken,
I keep no chip of it for token.

At Her Grave

© Alfred Austin

Lo, here among the rest you sleep,
As though no difference were
'Twixt them and you, more wide, more deep,
Than such as fondness loves to keep
Round each lone sepulchre.

Natalias Resurrection: Sonnet XXIII

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

But, when the church was hushed in the night wind,
And all were gone who might his zeal disclaim,
Or hinder the firm purpose of his mind,
A silent man among the tombs he came,

The Doves Of Venus

© George Essex Evans

The dull earth swung in silence oer,

A dreamless world, a dreary star,

Mein Tag War Heiter

© Heinrich Heine

My day was happy, fortunate my night.

My People loved me when I struck the lyre

The Prodigal Son

© John Newton

Afflictions, though they seem severe;
In mercy oft are sent;
They stopped the prodigal's career,
And forced him to repent.

I Tore Apart My Only Love

© Sukasah Syahdan

I tore apart my only love
and am dying
an ungraceful death

Not So Much As What We Feel

© Sukasah Syahdan

not so much as what we feel
about this budding rose
is our love

Turning Fifty

Having known war and peace
and loss and finding,
I drink my coffee and wait
for the sun to rise,

Little Oliver

EARL JOYCE he was a kind old party
Whom nothing ever could put out,
Though eighty-two, he still was hearty,
Excepting as regarded gout.

In Memory Of Major Robert Gregory

Now that we're almost settled in our house
I'll name the friends that cannot sup with us
Beside a fire of turf in th' ancient tower,
And having talked to some late hour