Love poems
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Abu Midjan
© George MacDonald
"If I sit in the dust
For lauding good wine,
Ha, ha! it is just:
So sits the vine!"
Prayer of a Soldier's Mother
© Anonymous
O, Mother of Perpetual Help,
To thee I send my plea,
Look down upon my soldier son,
Take care of him for me.
If I Were A Monk, And If Thou Wert A Nun
© George MacDonald
If I were a monk, and thou wert a nun,
Pacing it wearily, wearily,
Twixt chapel and cell till day were done-
Wearily, wearily-
How would it fare with these hearts of ours
That need the sunshine, and smiles, and flowers?
The Toadstool
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
THERE 's a thing that grows by the fainting flower,
And springs in the shade of the lady's bower;
Love In Hades.
© Robert Crawford
I saw Love pass with Charon down
The pale infernal tide,
To visit in the starless town
All who for him had died.
Down At The Docks
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
DOWN at the docks--when the smoke clouds lie,
Wind-ript and red, on an angry sky--
To A Friend Who Sent Me A Box Of Violets
© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Nay, more than violets
These thoughts of thine, friend!
Confession
© Charles Baudelaire
Une fois, une seule, aimable et douce femme,
À mon bras votre bras poli
S'appuya (sur le fond ténébreux de mon âme
Ce souvenir n'est point pâli);
Melody To A Scene Of Former Times
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Art thou indeed forever gone,
Forever, ever, lost to me?
Must this poor bosom beat alone,
Or beat at all, if not for thee?
The Witch's Daughter
© John Greenleaf Whittier
It was the pleasant harvest time,
When cellar-bins are closely stowed,
And garrets bend beneath their load,
A Harvest Song
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
THE noon was as a crystal bowl
The red wine mantled through;
Around it like a Viking's beard
The red-gold hazes blew,
As tho' he quaffed the ruddy draught
While swift his galley flew.
Hymn To Love
© Robert Herrick
I will confess
With cheerfulness,
Love is a thing so likes me,
That, let her lay
On me all day,
I'll kiss the hand that strikes me.
The Woman Who Came Behind Him In The Crowd
© George MacDonald
Near him she stole, rank after rank;
She feared approach too loud;
She touched his garment's hem, and shrank
Back in the sheltering crowd.
Palinodia
© Charles Kingsley
Ye mountains, on whose torrent-furrowed slopes,
And bare and silent brows uplift to heaven,
I envied oft the soul which fills your wastes
Of pure and stern sublime, and still expanse
Unbroken by the petty incidents
Of noisy life: Oh hear me once again!
