Love poems
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Scented Herbage Of My Breast
© Walt Whitman
SCENTED herbage of my breast,
Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards,
To The Sad Moon
© Sir Philip Sidney
With how sad steps, O Moon, thou climb'st the skies!
How silently, and with how wan a face!
What! May it be that even in heavenly place
That busy archer his sharp arrows tries?
My True Love Hath My Heart, And I Have His
© Sir Philip Sidney
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange, one for the other giv'n.
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot miss;
There never was a better bargain driv'n.
Lincoln
© John Gould Fletcher
Like a gaunt, scraggly pine
Which lifts its head above the mournful sandhills;
And patiently, through dull years of bitter silence,
Untended and uncared for, starts to grow.
The Gyres
© William Butler Yeats
THE GYRES! the gyres! Old Rocky Face, look forth;
Things thought too long can be no longer thought,
The Night-Blooming Cereus
© Harriet Monroe
FLOWER of the moon!
Still white is her brow whom we worshiped on earth long ago;
Yea, purer than pearls in deep seas, and more virgin than snow.
The dull years veil their eyes from her shining, and vanish afraid,
Nor profane her with agethe immortal, nor dim her with shade.
Castile
© Louise Gluck
I met my love under an orange tree
or was it an acacia tree
or was he not my love?
A Poet's Epitaph
© Madison Julius Cawein
LIFE was unkind to him;
All things went wrong:
Fortune assigned to him
Merely a song.
Two Songs Of Spain
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
Fountain, cans't thou sing the song
My Juan sang to me
Circe's Torment
© Louise Gluck
I regret bitterly
The years of loving you in both
Your presence and absence, regret
The law, the vocation
Retreating Wind
© Louise Gluck
As I get further away from you
I see you more clearly.
Your souls should have been immense by now,
not what they are,
small talking things--
A Reading Of Life--With The Persuader
© George Meredith
So is it sung in any space
She fills, with laugh at shallow laws
Forbidding love's devised embrace,
The music Beauty from it draws.
To Mary Anning
© John Kenyon
Thee, Mary! first 'twas lightning struck,
And then a water-vat half drowned;
For Meng Hao-Jan
© Li Po
I love Master Meng.
Free as a flowing breeze,
He is famous
Throughout the world.
Labor Day
© Louise Gluck
Requiring something lovely on his arm
Took me to Stamford, Connecticut, a quasi-farm,
His family's; later picking up the mammoth
Girlfriend of Charlie, meanwhile trying to pawn me off
De Profundis Clamavi (Out Of The Depths I Have Cried)
© Charles Baudelaire
J'implore ta pitié, Toi, l'unique que j'aime,
Du fond du gouffre obscur où mon coeur est tombé.
C'est un univers morne à l'horizon plombé,
Où nagent dans la nuit l'horreur et le blasphème;
Celestial Music
© Louise Gluck
I have a friend who still believes in heaven.
Not a stupid person, yet with all she knows, she literally talks to God.
She thinks someone listens in heaven.
On earth she's unusually competent.
Brave too, able to face unpleasantness.
In The Carlyle House, Chelsea
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Up the steep stair they clatter to each room,
In whispered merriment they pierce the gloom
Of Time's sweet mercy, who with his grey sheet
Did seek in vain to stay their restless feet.
Their peeping eyes and prying fingers' thrust
Disturb Death's shroud and wanton in the dust.
The Garden
© Louise Gluck
The garden admires you.
For your sake it smears itself with green pigment,
The ecstatic reds of the roses,
So that you will come to it with your lovers.
