Love poems

/ page 142 of 1285 /

Order by :

1
. . .
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
. . .
1285

Lines To A Withered Leaf Seen On A Poet's Table

© Jones Very

Poet's hand has placed thee there,
Autumn's brown and withered scroll!
Though to outward eye not fair,
Thou hast beauty for the soul,

Ireland

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

'Twas the dream of a God,
And the mould of His hand,
That you shook 'neath His stroke,
That you trembled and broke

To Revery

© Madison Julius Cawein

What ogive gates from gold of Ophir wrought,

What walls of bastioned Parian, lucid rose,

An exile captive, severed from his home,
Torn from the friends he loved in life's sweet spring;
Heart-broken toils, while still his sad thoughts roam
Back to the past which now no joys can bring;
Vainly he seeks compassion and relief
In human hearts around, to cheer of soothe his grief.

The Midnight Mass

© Ada Cambridge

THE light lay trembling in a silver bar
Along the western borders of the sky;
From out the shadowy dome a little star
Stole forth to keep its patient watch on high;
And night came down, with solemn, soft embrace,
On storied Brittany.

Marmion: a Christmas Poem

© Sir Walter Scott

Heap on more wood! the wind is chill;

Ode for a Master Mariner Ashore

© Louise Imogen Guiney

THERE in his room, wheneer the moon looks in,

And silvers now a shell, and now a fin,

Love's Rose

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

I.
Hopes, that swell in youthful breasts,
Live not through the waste of time!
Loves rose a host of thorns invests;

Love Magical

© Roderic Quinn

IF you had been where I have been
(Grey, grey the skies above),
And you had seen what I have seen,
You would not laugh at love.

Who Hath Ears To Hear Let Him Hear

© Jones Very

The sun doth not the hidden place reveal,

Whence pours at morn his golden flood of light;

The Unmarried Mother

© France Preseren

What was the need of you, little one,
My baby dear, my darling son,
To me - a girl, a foolish young thing,
A mother without a wedding ring?

A Womans Sonnets: VIII

I sue thee not for pity on my case.
If I have sinned, the judgment has begun.
My joy was but one day of all the days,
And clouds have blotted it and hid the sun.

My Friend

Two days ago with dancing glancing hair,
With living lips and eyes:
Now pale, dumb, blind, she lies;
So pale, yet still so fair.

My Love Annie

SOFT of voice and light of hand
As the fairest in the land--
Who can rightly understand
My love Annie?

Poem At The Centennial Anniversary Dinner Of The Massachusetts Medical Society

Each has his gifts, his losses and his gains,
Each his own share of pleasures and of pains;
No life-long aim with steadfast eye pursued
Finds a smooth pathway all with roses strewed;
Trouble belongs to man of woman born,--
Tread where he may, his foot will find its thorn.