Love poems
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Recreation
© Jane Taylor
At last the tea came up, and so,
With that, our tongues began to go.
Now, in that house, you're sure of knowing
The smallest scrap of news that's going ;
We find it there the wisest way
To take some care of what we say.
Avis
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
I MAY not rightly call thy name,
Alas! thy forehead never knew
The kiss that happier children claim,
Nor glistened with baptismal dew.
The Sixth Sense
© Nikolai Stepanovich Gumilev
Fine is the wine that is in love with us,
The goodly bread we wait for from the oven,
And woman whom we have possessed, at last,
After we've suffered under yoke her own.
Sonnets Are Full Of Love
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Sonnets are full of love, and this my tome
Has many sonnets: so here now shall be
To Mary Field French
© Eugene Field
A dying mother gave to you
Her child a many years ago;
How in your gracious love he grew,
You know, dear, patient heart, you know.
When We're All Alike
© Edgar Albert Guest
I've trudged life's highway up and down;
I've watched the lines of men march by;
Song
© Victoria Mary Sackville-West
If I had only loved your flesh
And careless damned your soul to Hell,
I might have laughed and loved afresh,
And loved as lightly and as well,
And little more to tell.
Love Sonnet XLIX
© Zora Bernice May Cross
And when from there I come to you, love-swift,
My mouth hot-edged with kisses fresh as wine,
Often I find your longings all asleep
And unresponsive from my grasp you drift.
Ah, Love, you, too, seek solitude like mine,
And soul from soul the secret seems to keep.
The Duell
© Richard Lovelace
Love drunk, the other day, knockt at my brest,
But I, alas! was not within.
My man, my ear, told me he came t' attest,
That without cause h'd boxed him,
And battered the windows of mine eyes,
And took my heart for one of's nunneries.
Hot Afternoons Have Been in Montana
© Eli Siegel
Quiet and green was the grass of the field,
The sky was whole in brightness,
Do You Think That I Do Not Know?
© Henry Lawson
They say that I never have written of love,
As a writer of songs should do;
Poem
© Aldous Huxley
Books and a coloured skein of thoughts were mine;
And magic words lay ripening in my soul
Till their much-whispered music turned a wine
Whose subtlest power was all in my control.
Ode For Washingtons Birthday
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
CELEBRATION OF THE MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION,
FEBRUARY 22, 1856
Evening Song
© Friedrich Rückert
I stood on the mountain summit,
At the hour when the sun did set;
I mark'd how it hung o'er the woodland
The evening's golden net.
The Meadow
© Archibald Lampman
Here when the cloudless April days begin,
And the quaint crows flock thicker day by day,
Mirage
© Ada Cambridge
Is it a will-o'-the-wisp, or is dawn breaking,
That our horizon wears so strange a hue?
Is it but one more dream, or are we waking
To find that dreams, at last, are coming true?
The Farm House By The River
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
I know a little country place
Where still my heart doth linger,
From Anacreon
© George Gordon Byron
I wish to tune my quivering lyre
To deed of fame and notes of fire;
To echo, from its rising swell,
How heroes fought and nations fell,
