Love poems
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Nineteenth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
When Persecution's torrent blaze
Wraps the unshrinking Martyr's head;
When fade all earthly flowers and bays,
When summer friends are gone and fled,
Is he alone in that dark hour
Who owns the Lord of love and power?
Mrs. Effingham's Swan Song
© Muriel Stuart
I am growing old: I have kept youth too long,
But I dare not let them know it now.
Native Land
© Mikhail Lermontov
I love my native land with such perverse affection!
My better judgement has no standing here.
Not glory, won in bloody action,
nor yet that calm demeanour, trusting and austere,
nor yet age-hallowed rites or handed-down traditions;
not one can stir my soul to gratifying visions.
Grey Wolves Grey
© Henry Lawson
As the horses toil at the ends of trains,
And the ends of roads on the Blacksoil Plains.
And Ivan digs in the frozen clay,
And he rolls the logs a bed to lay
For a gun thats five hundred miles away,
But as sure to come as the grey wolves grey.
To Philip Bourke Marston, Inciting Me To Poetic Work
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
SWEET Poet, thou of whom these years that roll
Must one day yet the burdened birthright learn,
What Would It Be?
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Now what were the words of Jesus,
And what would He pause and say,
The Sixth Olympic Ode Of Pindar
© Henry James Pye
A sudden thought I raptur'd feel,
Which, as the whetstone points the steel,
Brightens my sense, and bids me warbling raise
To the soft-breathing flute, the kindred notes of praise.
All White Continued
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Ah, beautiful sweet woman, made in vain,
Since Launcelot is dead and only I,
Alas for this new world of recreant men,
Remain in age Love's creed to justify
Harry (Engaged To Be Married) To Charley (Who Is Not)
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
To all my fond rhapsodies, Charley,
You have wearily listened, I fear;
Poetry
© George Meredith
Grey with all honours of age! but fresh-featured and ruddy
As dawn when the drowsy farm-yard has thrice heard Chaunticlere.
Tender to tearfulness-childlike, and manly, and motherly;
Here beats true English blood richest joyance on sweet English ground.
My Wife
© Robert Louis Stevenson
Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,
With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,
Steel-true and blade-straight,
The great artificer
Made my mate.
Boethius, De Consolatione Philosophiae : Liber 2. Metrum 5
© Henry Vaughan
Happy that first white age when we
Lived by the earth's mere charity!
Fall
© Madison Julius Cawein
Sad-hearted spirit of the solitudes,
Who comest through the ruin-wedded woods!
Inconstancy
© Abraham Cowley
FIVE years ago (says Story) I lov'd you,
For which you call me most inconstant now;
February
© Edith Nesbit
THE trees stand brown against the gray,
The shivering gray of field and sky;
The mists wrapt round the dying day
The shroud poor days wear as they die:
Poor day, die soon, who lived in vain,
Who could not bring my Love again!
The Creatures In The Lord's Hands
© John Newton
The water stood like walls of brass,
To let the sons of Israel pass;
And from the rock in rivers burst
At Moses' prayer to quench their thirst.
Woman To Man
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
You do but jest, sir, and you jest not well,
How could the hand be enemy of the arm,
Or seed and sod be rivals! How could light
Feel jealousy of heat, plant of the leaf
Out Of Nazareth
© James Whitcomb Riley
"Who can rob thee an thou hast
More than this that thou hast cast
At my feet-- this dust of gold?
Simply this and that, all told!
Hast thou not a treasure of
Such a thing as men call love?"
In Memory Of The Late G. C. Of Montreal
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
The earth was flooded in the amber haze
That renders so lovely our autumn days,
The dying leaves softly fluttered down,
Bright crimson and orange and golden brown,
And the hush of autumn, solemn and still,
Brooded oer valley, plain and hill.
