Love poems
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Song
© Charles Harpur
THE world's heart is kindless and grey and unholy,
As the head of the wandering Jew,
From A Poem
© Boris Pasternak
I also loved, and the restless breaths
Of sleeplessness, fluttering through darkness,
My Father
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
MY father! in the vague, mysterious past,
My boyish thoughts have wandered o'er and o'er,
To thy lone grave upon a distant shore,
The wanderer of the waters, still at last.
The End of the Book
© Charles Harpur
My work is finished that has been to me
My only solace for this many a day.
Evening By The Seaside
© Frances Anne Kemble
The monsters of the deep do roar,
And their huge manes upon the shore
Dora
© Jean Ingelow
There is but heaven, for childhood never
Can yield the all it meant, for ever.
Or is there earth, must wane to less
What dawned so close by perfectness.
A Marriage-Table
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
THERE was a marriage-table where One sate,
Haply, unnoticed, till they craved His aid:
Thenceforward does it seem that He has made
All virtuous marriage-tables consecrate:
Voyages V
© Hart Crane
Meticulous, past midnight in clear rime,
Infrangible and lonely, smooth as though cast
Together in one merciless white blade-
The bay estuaries fleck the hard sky limits.
The Coming Of Love
© Isabel Ecclestone Mackay
HOW shall I know? Shall I hear Love pass
In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree?
Shall I follow his passing over the grass
By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free?
Crystal Gazer
© Sylvia Plath
Gerd sits spindle-shaped in her dark tent,
Lean face gone tawn with seasons ,
Skin worn down to the knucklebones
At her tough trade; without time's taint
The burnished ball hangs fire in her hands, a lens
Fusing time's three horizons.
Elmwood
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
The after-glow has faded from the elms,
And in the denser darkness of the boughs
From time to time the firefly's tiny lamp
Sparkles. How often in still summer dusks
He paused to note that transient phantom spark
Flash on the air--a light that outlasts him!
From The Italian
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
EYES with the same blue witchery as those
Of Psyche, which caught Love in his own wiles;
Lips of the breath and hue of the red rose,
That move but with kind words, and sweetest smiles;
Mother Nature
© George MacDonald
Beautiful mother is busy all day,
So busy she neither can sing nor say;
But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow,
Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go-
Motion, sight, and sound, and scent,
Weaving a royal, rich content.
Italy : 26. The Campagna Of Florence
© Samuel Rogers
'Tis morning. Let us wander through the fields,
Where Cimabue found a shepherd-boy
Tracing his idle fancies on the ground;
And let us from the top of Fiesole,
The Flowers
© Rudyard Kipling
To our private taste, there is always something a little exotic,
almost artificial, in songs which, under an English aspect and dress,
are yet so manifestly the product of other skies. They affect us
like translations; the very fauna and flora are alien, remote;
The Autumn Crocus
© Robert Laurence Binyon
In the high woods that crest our hills,
Upon a steep, rough slope of forest ground,
Where few flowers grow, sweet blooms to--day I found
Of the Autumn Crocus, blowing pale and fair.
Dim falls the sunlight there;
And a mild fragrance the lone thicket fills.
Janiveer in March
© Henry Cuyler Bunner
I would not have you so kindly,
Thus early in friendships year
A little too gently, blindly,
You let me near.
Desire
© Ada Cambridge
Bright eyes, sweet lips, with many fevers fill
The young blood, running wildly, as it must;
