Love poems
/ page 1094 of 1285 /
Why so Pale and Wan?
© Sir John Suckling
WHY so pale and wan, fond lover?
Prithee, why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee, why so pale?
When, Dearest, I But Think of Thee
© Sir John Suckling
When, dearest I but think of thee,
Methinks all things that lovely be
Are present, and my soul delighted:
For beauties that from worth arise
Are like the grace of deities,
Still present with us, tho unsighted.
The Constant Lover
© Sir John Suckling
Out upon it, I have lov'd
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.
Sonnet
© Sir John Suckling
Oh, for some honest lover's ghost,
Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below!
I strangely long to know
Song
© Sir John Suckling
Why so pale and wan fond lover?
Prithee why so pale?
Will, when looking well can't move her,
Looking ill prevail?
Prithee why so pale?
Out upon it, I have lov'd
© Sir John Suckling
Out upon it, I have lov'd
Three whole days together;
And am like to love three more,
If it prove fair weather.
Love Turned to Hatred
© Sir John Suckling
I will not love one minute more, I swear!
No, not a minute! Not a sigh or tear
Thou gett'st from me, or one kind look again,
Though thou shouldst court me to 't, and wouldst begin.
If you refuse me once, and think again
© Sir John Suckling
If you refuse me once, and think again,
I will complain.
You are deceiv'd, love is no work of art,
It must be got and born,
Not made and worn,
By every one that hath a heart.
I prithee send me back my heart
© Sir John Suckling
I prithee send me back my heart,
Since I cannot have thine;
For if from yours you will not part,
Why, then, shouldst thou have mine?
A Doubt of Martyrdom
© Sir John Suckling
O for some honest lovers ghost,
Some kind unbodied post
Sent from the shades below!
I strangely long to know
You Remember Ellen
© Thomas Moore
You remember Ellen, our hamlet's pride,
How meekly she bless'd her humble lot,
When the stranger, William, had made her his bride,
And love was the light of their lowly cot.
Wreath the Bowl
© Thomas Moore
Wreath the bowl
With flowers of soul,
The brightest Wit can find us,
We'll take a flight
While Gazing on the Moon's Light
© Thomas Moore
While gazing on the moon's light,
A moment from her smile I turn'd,
To look at orbs that, more bright,
In lone and distant glory burn'd.
Whene'er I See Those Smiling Eyes
© Thomas Moore
Whene'er I see those smiling eyes,
So full of hope, and joy, and light,
As if no cloud could ever rise,
To dim a heaven so purely bright --
Fears And Scruples
© Robert Browning
Here's my case. Of old I used to love him.
This same unseen friend, before I knew:
Dream there was none like him, none above him,--
Wake to hope and trust my dream was true.
When He Who Adores Thee
© Thomas Moore
When he, who adores thee, has left but the name
Of his fault and his sorrows behind,
Oh! say wilt thou weep, when they darken the fame
Of a life that for thee was resign'd?
When First I Met Thee
© Thomas Moore
When first I met thee, warm and young,
There shone such truth about thee,
And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee.
When Cold in the Earth
© Thomas Moore
When cold in the earth lies the friend thou hast loved,
Be his faults and his follies forgot by thee then;
Or, if from their slumber the veil be removed,
Weep o'er them in silence, and close it again.
What the Bee Is To the Floweret
© Thomas Moore
What the bee is to the floweret,
When he looks for honey-dew,
Through the leaves that close embower it,
That, my love, I'll be to you.
Weep On, Weep On
© Thomas Moore
Weep on, weep on, your hour is past,
Your dreams of pride are o'er;
The fatal chain is round you cast,
And you are men no more.
