Love poems
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The Book
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Gallery of sacred pictures manifold,
A minster rich in holy effigies,
The Nightingale
© Mark Akenside
To-night retired, the queen of heaven
With young Endymion stays;
And now to Hesper it is given
Awhile to rule the vacant sky,
Till she shall to her lamp supply
A stream of brighter rays.
To Caroline: Oh When Shall The Grave Hide
© George Gordon Byron
Oh when shall the grave hide for ever my sorrow?
Oh when shall my soul wing her flight from this clay?
The present is hell, and the coming to-morrow
But brings, with new torture, the curse of to-day.
The Borough. Letter XVIII: The Poor And Their
© George Crabbe
applause:
To her own house is borne the week's supply;
There she in credit lives, there hopes in peace to
Lines To ---.
© Frances Anne Kemble
When 'twas my hap to meet you, for awhile
Our paths together layand each one brought
The Mutes
© Denise Levertov
Those groans men use
passing a woman on the street
or on the steps of the subway
To Gordon Leaving Khartoum
© George MacDonald
The silence of traitorous feet!
The silence of close-pent rage!
The roar, and the sudden heart-beat!
And the shot through the true heart going,
The truest heart of the age!
And the Nile serenely flowing!
Lallegro
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Felicity!
Who ope'st to none that knocks, yet, laughing weak,
The Bastille: A Vision
© Helen Maria Williams
"Drear cell! along whose lonely bounds,
Unvisited by light,
Chill silence dwells with night,
Save where the clanging fetter sounds!
The Shepherd's Week : Monday; or the Squabble
© John Gay
Lobbin Clout.
Ah Blouzelind! I love thee more by half,
Than does their fawns, or cows the new-fallen calf;
Wo worth the tongue! may blisters sore it gall,
That names Buxoma, Blouzelind withal.
The Spirit Of Great Joan
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Back of each soldier who fights for France,
Aye, back of each woman and man
Verses III
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Written by the same lady on seeing her two sons
at play.
SWEET age of bless'd delusion! blooming boys,
Ah! revel long in childhood's thoughtless joys,
With light and pliant spirits, that can stoop
To follow, sportively, the rolling hoop;
Time of Roses
© Thomas Hood
It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses
We pluck'd them as we pass'd!
Sonnet Of Motherhood XXIX
© Zora Bernice May Cross
O Love, I fear the loneness of my limbs
Leaning to nothing to their solitude.
Draw up the blinds and let the stars rush in,
The mournful moon and all the air she swims.
I would not languish in my mother-mood
While just without earth makes her old, mad din.
The Sun Was Slumbering in the West
© Thomas Hood
The sun was slumbering in the West,
My daily labors past;
On Anna's soft and gentle breast
My head reclined at last;
The Song of the Shirt
© Thomas Hood
With fingers weary and worn,
With eyelids heavy and red,
A woman sat, in unwomanly rags,
Plying her needle and thread--
The Haunted House
© Thomas Hood
Oh, very gloomy is the house of woe,
Where tears are falling while the bell is knelling,
With all the dark solemnities that show
That Death is in the dwelling!
The City Of The Dead XX
© Khalil Gibran
Yesterday I drew myself from the noisome throngs and proceeded into the field until I reached a knoll upon which Nature had spread her comely garments. Now I could breathe.
I looked back, and the city appeared with its magnificent mosques and stately residences veiled by the smoke of the shops.
Au Pied De Mon Lit
© Francis Jammes
Au pied de mon lit, une Vierge négresse
fut mise par ma mère. Et j'aime cette Vierge
