Love poems
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The Marshes of Glynn
© Sidney Lanier
Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noon-day fire, --
Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire,
Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves, --
Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves,
Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood,
Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good; --
To A Lady
© Franklin Pierce Adams
Ah, Lady, if these verses glowed
Warmer than chill appreciation--
If they should lengthen to an "Ode
On Fascination--"
The Two Of Us Wont Share A Glass Together
© Anna Akhmatova
The two of us wont share a glass together
Be it of water or of sweet red wine;
We wont be kissing, in the morning either
Nor, late at night, enjoy an evening shine…
You breathe the sun, I breathe the moon; however
We are united by one love forever.
We Who Stay At Home
© Edgar Albert Guest
When you were just our little boy, on many a night we crept
Unto your cot and watched o'er you, and all the time you slept.
We tucked the covers round your form and smoothed your pillow, too,
And sometimes stooped and kissed your cheeks, but that you never knew.
Just as we came to you back then through many a night and day,
Our spirits now shall come to you--to kiss and watch and pray.
On The Death Of A Child
© Alaric Alexander Watts
Sweet flower! with flowers I strew thy narrow bed!
Sweets to the sweet! Farewell! ~ Shakespeare.
Love Made In The First Age. To Chloris.
© Richard Lovelace
I.
In the nativity of time,
Chloris! it was not thought a crime
In direct Hebrew for to woe.
The Nizams Daughter
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
SHE is yet a child in years,
Twelve springs are on her face,
Yet in her slender form appears
The woman's perfect grace.
To The Bay Of Dublin
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
My native Bay, for many a year
I've lov'd thee with a trembling fear,
The Entire Surrender
© William Cowper
Peace has unveiled her smiling face,
And wooes thy soul to her embrace,
Enjoyed with ease, if thou refrain
From earthly love, else sought in vain;
She dwells with all who truth prefer,
But seeks not them who seek not her.
A Dandelion for My Mother by Jean Nordhaus: American Life in Poetry #131 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laure
© Ted Kooser
Sometimes beginning writers tell me they get discouraged because it seems that everything has already been written about. But every experience, however commonplace, is unique to he or she who seizes it. There have undoubtedly been many poems about how dandelions pass from yellow to wind-borne gossamer, but this one by the Maryland poet, Jean Nordhaus, offers an experience that was unique to her and is a gift to us.
Dorothy's Opinion
© Carolyn Wells
Mamma has bought a calendar,
And every single page
Has pictures on of little girls
'Most just about my age.
Sonnet 11: In Truth, Oh Love
© Sir Philip Sidney
In truth, oh Love, with what a boyish kind
Thou doest proceed in thy most serious ways:
That when the heav'n to thee his best displays,
Yet of that best thou leav'st the best behind.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXXIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
TO ONE TO WHOM HE HAD BEEN UNJUST
If I was angry once that you refused
The bread I asked and offered me a stone,
Deeming the rights of bounty thus abused
Laundry by Ruth Moose: American Life in Poetry #105 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
I've talked often in this column about how poetry can hold a mirror up to life, and I'm especially fond of poems that hold those mirrors up to our most ordinary activities, showing them at their best and brightest. Here Ruth Moose hangs out some laundry and, in an instant, an everyday chore that might have seemed to us to be quite plain is fresh and lovely.
The Convert's Love
© Thomas Parnell
Blessed Light of saints on high
Who fill the mansions of the sky,
Sure defence, whose mercy still
Preserves thy subjects here from ill,
O my Jesus! make me know
How to pay the thanks I owe.
On The Morning Of Christs Nativity. Compos'd 1629
© John Milton
I.
This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of Heavens eternal King,
Of wedded maid and Virgin Mother born,
Isla Mujeres
© William Matthews
The shoal we saw from the boat was fish;
it parted as I dove through, and formed
