Love poems

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Lovers on Aran

© Seamus Justin Heaney

The timeless waves, bright, sifting, broken glass,
Came dazzling around, into the rocks,
Came glinting, sifting from the Americas

The Homeless Ghost

© George MacDonald

Still flowed the music, flowed the wine.
The youth in silence went;
Through naked streets, in cold moonshine,
His homeward way he bent,
Where, on the city's seaward line,
His lattice seaward leant.

Mossbawn: Two Poems in Dedication

© Seamus Justin Heaney

There was a sunlit absence.
The helmeted pump in the yard
heated its iron,
water honeyed

To Them That Mourn

© Gilbert Keith Chesterton

Lift up your heads: in life, in death,
God knoweth his head was high.
Quit we the coward's broken breath
Who watched a strong man die.

The Otter

© Seamus Justin Heaney

When you plunged
The light of Tuscany wavered
And swung through the pool
From top to bottom.

Those who love cats which do not even purr
Or which are thin and tired and very old,
Bend down to them in the street and stroke their fur
And rub their ears, and smooth their breast, and hold
Them carefully, and gaze into their eyes of gold.

Elegy

© Allen Tate

No more the white refulgent streets.
Never the dry hollows of the mind
Shall he in fine courtesy walk
Again, for death is not unkind.

To O.E.A.

© Claude McKay

Your voice is the color of a robin's breast,

And there's a sweet sob in it like rain-still rain in the night.

Casualty

© Seamus Justin Heaney

Dawn-sniffing revenant,
Plodder through midnight rain,
Question me again.

Twice Shy

© Seamus Justin Heaney

Her scarf a la Bardot,
In suede flats for the walk,
She came with me one evening
For air and friendly talk.
We crossed the quiet river,
Took the embankment walk.

Personal Helicon

© Seamus Justin Heaney

As a child, they could not keep me from wells
And old pumps with buckets and windlasses.
I loved the dark drop, the trapped sky, the smells
Of waterweed, fungus and dank moss.

My Romance

© Madison Julius Cawein

If it so befalls that the midnight hovers
In mist no moonlight breaks,
The leagues of the years my spirit covers,
And my self myself forsakes.

Motherhood

© Edgar Albert Guest

I wonder if he'll stop to think,

When the long years have traveled by,

How I Consulted The Oracle Of The Goldfishes

© James Russell Lowell

What know we of the world immense

Beyond the narrow ring of sense?

Blackberry-Picking

Late August, given heavy rain and sun
For a full week, the blackberries would ripen.
At first, just one, a glossy purple clot
Among others, red, green, hard as a knot.

From: An Evening Revery

FROM AN UNFINISHED POEM

The summer day is closed--the sun is set:

The Heremite Toad

A human skull in a church-yard lay;
For the church was a wreck, and the tombstones old
On the graves of their dead were rotting away
To the like of their long-watched mould.

Blue

© May Swenson

Blue, but you are Rose, too,
and buttermilk, but with blood
dots showing through.
A little salty your white

Grandmothers Teaching

``Grandmother dear, you do not know; you have lived the old-world life,
Under the twittering eaves of home, sheltered from storm and strife;
Rocking cradles, and covering jams, knitting socks for baby feet,
Or piecing together lavender bags for keeping the linen sweet:
Daughter, wife, and mother in turn, and each with a blameless breast,
Then saying your prayers when the nightfall came, and quietly dropping to rest.