Love poems
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A Pastoral Ballad, Absence
© William Shenstone
Ye shepherds so cheerful and gay, Whose flocks never carelessly roam;Should Corydon's happen to stray, Oh! call the poor wanderers home
Lines: "When the Lamp Is Shattered"
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
When the lamp is shatteredThe light in the dust lies dead-- When the cloud is scatteredThe rainbow's glory is shed
Dream Song 39: Goodbye, sir, and fare well. You're in the clear
© John Berryman
Goodbye, sir, & fare well. You're in the clear.
'Nobody' (Mark says you said) 'is ever found out.'
I figure you were right,
having as Henry got away with murder
for long. Some jarred clock tell me it's late,
not for you who went straight
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Your love and pity doth th'impression fill
© William Shakespeare
Your love and pity doth th'impression fillWhich vulgar scandal stampt upon my brow,For what care I who calls me well or illSo you o'er-green my bad, my good allow?You are my all-the-world, and I must striveTo know my shames and praises from your tongue,None else to me, nor I to none alive,That my steel'd sense o'er-changes right or wrong
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Why is my verse so barren of new pride?
© William Shakespeare
Why is my verse so barren of new pride?So far from variation or quick change?Why with the time do I not glance asideTo new-found methods, and to compounds strange?Why write I still all one, ever the same,And keep invention in a noted weed,That every word doth almost feal my name,Showing their birth, and where they did proceed?O know, sweet love, I always write of you,And you and love are still my argument:So all my best is dressing old words new,Spending again what is already spent: For as the sun is daily new and old, So is my love still telling what is told
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Why did'st thou promise such a beaut'ous day
© William Shakespeare
Why did'st thou promise such a beaut'ous dayAnd make me travail forth without my cloak,To let base clouds o'er-take me in my way,Hiding thy brav'ry in their rotten smoke?'Tis not enough that through the cloud thou break,To dry the rain on my storm-beaten face,For no man well of such a salve can speak,That heals the wound, and cures not the disgrace:Nor can thy shame give physic to my grief,Though thou repent, yet I have still the loss
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Whil'st I alone did call upon thy aid
© William Shakespeare
Whil'st I alone did call upon thy aid,My verse alone had all thy gentle grace,But now my gracious numbers are decay'd,And my sick muse doth give an other place
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Where art thou, muse, that thou forget'st so long
© William Shakespeare
Where art thou, muse, that thou forget'st so longTo speak of that which gives thee all thy might?Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song,Dark'ning thy pow'r to lend base subjects light?Return, forgetful Muse, and straight redeem,In gentle numbers, time so idly spent,Sing to the ear that doth thy lays esteemAnd gives thy pen both skill and argument
Shakespeare's Sonnets: When to the sessions of sweet silent thought
© William Shakespeare
When to the sessions of sweet silent thoughtI summon up remembrance of things past,I sigh the lack of many a thing I soughtAnd with old woes new wail my dear time's waste:Then can I drown an eye (un-us'd to flow)For precious friends hid in death's dateless night,And weep afresh love's long-since cancell'd woe,And moan th'expense of many a vanish't sight
Shakespeare's Sonnets: When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
© William Shakespeare
When thou shalt be disposed to set me lightAnd place my merit in the eye of scorn,Upon thy side against my self I'll fightAnd prove thee virtuous, though thou art forsworn
Shakespeare's Sonnets: When my love swears that she is made of truth
© William Shakespeare
When my love swears that she is made of truth,I do believe her, though I know she lies,That she might think me some untutor'd youth,Unlearnèd in the world's false subtleties
Shakespeare's Sonnets: When in the chronicle of wastèd time
© William Shakespeare
When in the chronicle of wastèd timeI see descriptions of the fairest wightsAnd beauty making beautiful old rhymeIn praise of ladies dead, and lovely knights,Then in the blazon of sweet beauty's best,Of hand, of foot, of lip, of eye, of brow,I see their antique pen would have express'tEv'n such a beauty as you master now
Shakespeare's Sonnets: When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes
© William Shakespeare
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes,I all alone beweep my out-cast stateAnd trouble deaf heav'n with my bootless cries,And look upon my self and curse my fate,Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess't,Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,With what I most enjoy contented least;Yet in these thoughts my self almost despising,Haply I think on thee, and then my state(Like to the lark at break of day arising)From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven's gate, For thy sweet love rememb'red such wealth brings, That then I scorn to change my state with kings
Shakespeare's Sonnets: When I have seen by time's fell hand defaced
© William Shakespeare
When I have seen by time's fell hand defacedThe rich proud cost of outworn buried age;When sometime lofty towers I see down razedAnd brass eternal slave to mortal rage;When I have seen the hungry ocean gainAdvantage on the kingdom of the shore,And the firm soil win of the watery main,Increasing store with loss, and loss with store;When I have seen such interchange of state,Or state it self confounded to decay,Ruin hath taught me thus to ruminateThat time will come and take my love away
Shakespeare's Sonnets: When I consider every thing that grows
© William Shakespeare
When I consider every thing that growsHolds in perfection but a little moment,That this huge stage presenteth nought but showsWhereon the stars in secret influence comment;When I perceive that men as plants increase,Cheered and check't even by the self-same sky,Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,And wear their brave state out of memory
Shakespeare's Sonnets: What's in the brain that ink may character
© William Shakespeare
What's in the brain that ink may characterWhich hath not figur'd to thee my true spirit?What's new to speak, what now to register,That may express my love, or thy dear merit?Nothing, sweet boy, but yet like prayers divine,I must each day say o'er the very same,Counting no old thing old, thou mine, I thine,Ev'n as when first I hallowed thy fair name
Shakespeare's Sonnets: What potions have I drunk of siren tears
© William Shakespeare
What potions have I drunk of siren tearsDistill'd from limbecks foul as hell within,Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,Still losing when I saw my self to win?What wretched errors hath my heart committedWhil'st it hath thought it self so blessèd never?How have mine eyes out of their spheres been fittedIn the distraction of this madding fever?O benefit of ill, now I find trueThat better is by evil still made better,And ruin'd love when it is built anewGrows fairer than at first, more strong, far greater
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
© William Shakespeare
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spendUpon thy self thy beauty's legacy?Nature's bequest gives nothing but doth lend,And being frank she lends to those are free:Then beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuseThe bounteous largess giv'n thee to give?Profitless usurer, why dost thou useSo great a sum of sums yet can'st not live?For having traffic with thy self alone,Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive;Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,What acceptable audit can'st thou leave? Thy unus'd beauty must be tomb'd with thee, Which usèd lives th' executor to be
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Two loves I have of comfort and despair
© William Shakespeare
Two loves I have of comfort and despairWhich like two spirits do suggest me still:The better angel is a man right fair;The worser spirit a woman colour'd ill
Shakespeare's Sonnets: Tir'd with all these for restful death I cry
© William Shakespeare
Tir'd with all these, for restful death I cry,As to behold desert a begger born,And needy nothing trimm'd in jollity,And purest faith unhappily forsworn,And gilded honour shamefully misplac't,And maiden virtue rudely strumpeted,And right perfection wrongfully disgrac'd,And strength by limping sway disablèd,And art made tongue-tied by authority,And folly (doctor-like) controlling skill,And simple-truth miscall'd simplicity,And captive-good attending captain-ill
