Love poems

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Ode To Sleep

© Pablius Papinius Statius

Lulled are the shuttering waves of the ocean,
Seas in the lap of the land lie at peace.
Only for me in monotonous motion
Day follows day, and there comes no release.

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If I Should Die

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

If I should die, how kind you all would grow!
In that strange hour I would not have one foe.
There are no words too beautiful to say
Of one who goes forevermore away

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A Praise Of His Love

© Henry Howard

  Give place, ye lovers, here before
  That spent your boasts and brags in vain;
  My lady's beauty passeth more
  The best of yours, I dare well sayn,
  Than doth the sun the candle-light,
  Or brightest day the darkest night.

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The Cry Of The People

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

Fire! Fire! Fire! the cry rang out on the night air,
The roving winds caught it up, and the very heavens resounded.
Louder and louder still, by voices grown hoarse with terror,
The cry went up and out and a nation stood still to listen.

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Recollections Of A Dreamland

© James Clerk Maxwell

Rouse ye! torpid daylight-dreamers, cast your carking cares away!
As calm air to troubled water, so my night is to your day;
All the dreary day you labour, groping after common sense,
And your eyes ye will not open on the night's magnificence.
Ye would scow were I to tell you how a guiding radiance gleams
On the outer world of action from my inner world of dreams.

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The Pleasures of Memory - Part II.

© Samuel Rogers

Sweet Memory, wafted by thy gentle gale,
Oft up the stream of Time I turn my sail,
To view the fairy-haunts of long-lost hours.
Blest with far greener shades, far fresher flowers.

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Ode on the Poetical Character

© William Taylor Collins

As once, if not with light regard,

 I read aright that gifted bard,

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Sonnet 104: Envious wits

© Sir Philip Sidney

Envious wits, what hath been mine offense,
That with such poisonous care my looks you mark,
That to each word, nay sigh of mine you hark,
As grudging me my sorrow's eloquence?

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Tannhauser

© Emma Lazarus

Far into Wartburg, through all Italy,
In every town the Pope sent messengers,
Riding in furious haste; among them, one
Who bore a branch of dry wood burst in bloom;
The pastoral rod had borne green shoots of spring,
And leaf and blossom. God is merciful.

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The Love-Sick Boy

© William Schwenck Gilbert

When first my old, old love I knew,

My bosom welled with joy;

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Why The Spring Is Late

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

To Miss Eva Russell.

The spring time is deaf to our pleading,

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The Solitary

© Sara Teasdale

My heart has grown rich with the passing of years,
  I have less need now than when I was young
To share myself with every comer
  Or shape my thoughts into words with my tongue.

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I Wonder Where My Papa Is?

© Julia A Moore

I wonder where my papa is,

 Oh, where could he have gone,

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From The Italian Of Michael Angelo

© William Wordsworth

YES! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none finds grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made

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Perfect Love

© Archibald Lampman

For perfect love is like a fair green plant,
That fades not with its blossoms, but lives on,
And gentle lovers shall not come to want,
Though fancy with its first mad dream be gone;
Sweet is the flower, whose radiant glory flies,
But sweeter still the green that never dies.

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Turn O’ The Tide

© Henry Van Dyke

The tide flows in to the harbour,—

  The bold tide, the gold tide, the flood o' the sunlit sea,—

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You Make The Sunshine Of My Heart

© Mathilde Blind

You make the sunshine of my heart

  And its tempestuous shower;

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New-Englands Crisis

© Benjamin Tompson

IN seventy five the Critick of our years

Commenc'd our war with Phillip and his peers.

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Turner's Old Temeraire

© James Russell Lowell

Thou wast the fairest of all man-made things;
The breath of heaven bore up thy cloudy wings,
And, patient in their triple rank,
The thunders crouched about thy flank,
Their black lips silent with the doom of kings.

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Burns

© John Greenleaf Whittier

No more these simple flowers belong
To Scottish maid and lover;
Sown in the common soil of song,
They bloom the wide world over.