Love poems
/ page 297 of 1285 /Studies By The Sea
© Charlotte Turner Smith
AH ! wherefore do the incurious say,
That this stupendous ocean wide,
Lilies
© Arthur Rimbaud
O see-saws! O Lilies!
Enemas of silver!
Disdainful of labours,
disdainful of famines!
The Scholar's Relapse
© William Shenstone
By the side of a grove, at the foot of a hill,
Where whisper'd the beech, and where murmur'd the rill,
I vow'd to the Muses my time and my care,
Since neither could win me the smiles of my fair.
The Lord Is His Devotees' Slave
© Sant Surdas
Whatever is a devotee's
caste, clan, family, or name,
Rama's love for him is the same.
A Pipe Of Tobacco
© Henry Fielding
Let the learned talk of books,
The glutton of cooks,
The lover of Celia's soft smackO!
No mortal can boast
So noble a toast
As a pipe of accepted tobacco.
Akhtamar
© Hovhannes Toumanian
Beside the laughing lake of Van
A little hamlet lies;
Each night into the waves a man
Leaps under darkened skies.
Sonnet XXIX: Whilst By Her Eyes Pursu'd
© Samuel Daniel
Whilst by her eyes pursu'd, my poor heart flew it,
Into the sacred bosom of my dearest;
In An Old Garden
© Madison Julius Cawein
The Autumn pines and fades
Upon the withered trees;
And over there, a choked despair,
You hear the moaning breeze.
The Heroic Enthusiasts - Part The First =Fifth Dialogue.=
© Giordano Bruno
CIC. Now show me how I may be able for myself to consider the conditions
of these enthusiasts, through that which appears in the order of the
warfare here described.
The Weaver
© Anonymous
My life is but a weaving, between my God and me,
I do not choose the colors, He worketh steadily.
Rubaiyat 13
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
Every friend who talked of love, became a foe.
Every eagle shifted its shape to a crow.
They say the night is pregnant, and I say,
Who is the father? And how do you know?
The Gardener
© Arthur Symons
The gardener in his old brown hands
Turns over the brown earth,
As if he loves and understands
The flowers before their birth,
The fragile childish little strands
He buries in the earth.
I Speak Not, I Trace Not, I Breathe Not Thy Name
© George Gordon Byron
I speak not, I trace not, I breathe not thy name;
There is grief in the sound, there is guilt in the fame;
When I would Imagine
© George Meredith
When I would image her features,
Comes up a shrouded head:
I touch the outlines, shrinking;
She seems of the wandering dead.
Song 5
© Gaius Valerius Catullus
Let us live, my Lesbia, let us love,
and all the words of the old, and so moral,
A Lament
© John Greenleaf Whittier
The circle is broken, one seat is forsaken,
One bud from the tree of our friendship is shaken;
One heart from among us no longer shall thrill
With joy in our gladness, or grief in our ill.
Central Park At Dusk
© Sara Teasdale
Buildings above the leafless trees
Loom high as castles in a dream,
While one by one the lamps come out
To thread the twilight with a gleam.