Love poems
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Madrigal.
© Robert Crawford
When morn is wandering on the seas,
And birds are singing in the trees,
And all the time is flushed with flowers,
And youth is in these hearts of ours
Arabian Night's Entertainments
© William Ernest Henley
Once on a time
There was a little boy: a master-mage
The Voyage
© Heinrich Heine
As at times a moonbeam pierces
Through the thickest cloudy rack,
So to me, through days so dreary,
One bright image struggles back.
Invitation To The Country
© George Meredith
Dry-fruited firs are dropping their cones,
And vista'd avenues of pines
Take richer green, give fresher tones,
As morn after morn the glad sun shines.
Gotham - Book I
© Charles Churchill
Far off (no matter whether east or west,
A real country, or one made in jest,
Night Rhapsody
© Robert Nichols
How beautiful it is to wake at night,
When over all there reigns the ultimate spell
Out Of The Fulness Of The Heart The Mouth Speaketh
© Edith Nesbit
In answer to those who have said that English Poets
give no personal love to their country.
The Children
© Edgar Albert Guest
The children bring us laughter, and the children bring us tears;
They string our joys, like jewels bright, upon the thread of years;
They bring the bitterest cares we know, their mothers' sharpest pain,
Then smile our world to loveliness, like sunshine after rain.
Obscur Et Fronce
© Arthur Rimbaud
Dark, wrinkled as a purple pink,
It breathes, it nestles in that bed of moss,
Year After Year: A Love Song.
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
YEAR after year the cowslips fill the meadow,
Year after year the skylarks thrill the air,
Year after year, in sunshine or in shadow,
Rolls the world round, love, and finds us as we were.
Commanders Of The Faithful
© William Makepeace Thackeray
The Pope he is a happy man,
His Palace is the Vatican,
And there he sits and drains his can:
The Pope he is a happy man.
I often say when I'm at home,
I'd like to be the Pope of Rome.
By The Grave
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THIS is the place--I pray thee, friend,
Leave me alone with that dread grief,
Whose raven wings o'erarch the grave,
Closed on a life how sad and brief!
Our Saviours Boyhood
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
With what a flood of wondrous thoughts
Each Christian breast must swell
When, wandering back through ages past,
With simple faith they dwell
On quiet Nazareths sacred sod,
Where the Child Saviours footsteps trod.
The Lost Embassy
© Edith Nesbit
THE lilies lean to the white, white rose,
The sweet limes send to the blossomed trees,
Soft kisses borne by the golden bees--
And all the world is alive, awake,
And glad to the heart for the summer's sake.
Sonnet L.
© Charlotte Turner Smith
FROM THE NOVEL OF CELESTINA.
FAREWELL, ye lawns!--by fond remembrance blest,
As witnesses of gay unclouded hours;
Where, to maternal friendships' bosom prest,
Green River
© William Cullen Bryant
When breezes are soft and skies are fair,
I steal an hour from study and care,
And hie me away to the woodland scene,
Where wanders the stream with waters of green,
