Love poems
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I Must Have Learned This Somewhere
© Peacock Molly
I loved an old doll made of bleachedwooden beads strung into a stick figure
Good-bye Hello in the East Village 1993
© Peacock Molly
Three tables down from Allen Ginsberg we sitin JJ's Russian Restaurant
A Favor of Love
© Peacock Molly
"Thank you for making this sacrifice," I say to my husband as I run to Kim's market
Altruism
© Peacock Molly
What if we got outside ourselves and therereally was an outside out there, not justour insides turned inside out? What if therereally were a you beyond me, not justthe waves off my own fire, like those waves offthe backyard grill you can see the next yard through,though not well -- just enough to know that offto the right belongs to someone else, not you
Song
© John Howard Payne
'Mid pleasures and palaces, though we may roam,Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home
To the Hawthorn-tree
© John Payne
Hail, bright blossoming hawthorn-tree, This fair leaFilling thus with leaves a-throng!Foot and crownal, stem and bough, Clad art thouWith a wild vine's tendrils long.
The Rose
© John Payne
Let us go see, dear, if the rose,Which but this morning did uncloseHer crown of crimson in the sun,Have not this eventide laid downThe glories of her purple gownAnd colour peered (save thine) of none.
Rondeau Redoublé
© John Payne
My day and night are in my lady's hand; I have none other sunrise than her sight:For me her favour glorifies the land, Her anger darkens all the cheerful light
Quia Multum Amavit
© John Payne
Just a drowned woman, with death-draggled hair And wan eyes, all a-stare;The weary limbs composed in ghastly rest, The hands together prest,Tight holding something that the flood has spared, Nor even the rough workhouse folk have dared To separate from her wholly, but untiedGently the knotted hands and laid it by her side
In Memoriam "Rover", Ob. July 2, 1902
© John Payne
My little gentle cat, whose eyes no doveMight ever match for truth and tenderness,Whose life was one long effort to express,In thy mute speech, an overflowing love,The wavering love of women far above,I cannot think that death thy gentilesseHath ended all or that thy fond excessIn this thy ten years' span found scope enough
Hélène
© John Payne
When you're grown old and sit before the fire at night,Devising, as you spin by candle-shine, you'll singThe rhymes I made of old and "Ronsard", marvelling
Rondeau Redoublé (and Scarcely Worth the Trouble, at That)
© Dorothy Parker
The same to me are sombre days and gay. Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,Because my dearest love is gone away Within my heart is melancholy night.
A Satire, in Imitation of the Third of Juvenal
© John Oldham
Though much concern'd to leave my dear old friend,I must however his design commendOf fixing in the country: for were IAs free to choose my residence, as he;The Peak, the Fens, the Hundreds, or Land's End,I would prefer to Fleet Street, or the Strand
Where the Brumbies Come to Water
© William Henry Ogilvie
There's a lonely grave half hidden where the blue-grass droops above,And the slab is rough that marks it, but we planted it for love;There's a well-worn saddle hanging in the harness-room at homeAnd a good old stock-horse waiting for the steps that never come;There's a mourning rank of riders closing in on either handO'er the vacant place he left us -- he, the best of all the band,Who is lying cold and silent with his hoarded hopes unwonWhere the brumbies come to water at the setting of the sun
Song for a Fishing Party near Burlington, on the Delaware, in 1776
© Odell Jonathan
How sweet is the season, the sky how serene;On Delaware's banks how delightful the scene;The Prince of the Rivers, his waves all asleep,In silence majestic glides on to the Deep.
On our Thirty-ninth Wedding-day, 6th of May, 1810
© Odell Jonathan
Twice nineteen years, dear Nancy, on this dayComplete their circle, since the smiling MayBeheld us at the altar kneel and joinIn holy rites and vows, which made thee mine
Ode for the New Year
© Odell Jonathan
When rival Nations first descried,Emerging from the boundless MainThis Land by Tyrants yet untried,On high was sung this lofty strain:Rise Britannia beaming far!Rise bright Freedom's morning star!
A White Rose
© O'Reilly John Boyle
The red rose whispers of passion, And the white rose breathes of love;Oh, the red rose is a falcon, And the white rose is a dove.
