Love poems
/ page 329 of 1285 /
Under The Wattle
© Douglas Brooke Wheelton Sladen
"Why should not wattle do
For mistletoe?"
Asked one - they were but two -
Where wattles grow.
Your Laughter
© Pablo Neruda
Take bread away from me, if you wish,
take air away, but
do not take from me your laughter.
Little Libbie
© Julia A Moore
One more little spirit to Heaven has flown,
To dwell in that mansion above,
Where dear little angels, together roam,
In God's everlasting love.
Queen Mab: Part IV.
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
'How beautiful this night! the balmiest sigh,
Which vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear,
The Tomb of Love
© Thomas Love Peacock
By the mossy weed-flowered column,
Where the setting moonbeam's glance
The Dowie Dens Of Yarrow
© Andrew Lang
Late at e'en, drinking the wine,
And ere they paid the lawing,
They set a combat them between,
To fight it in the dawing.
The Dream
© Giacomo Leopardi
It was the morning; through the shutters closed,
Along the balcony, the earliest rays
Prosperity
© George Moses Horton
Come, thou queen of every creature,
Nature calls thee to her arms ;
Love sits gay on every feature,
Teeming with a thousand charms.
Farewell
© Robert Nichols
For the last time, maybe, upon the knoll
I stand. The eve is golden, languid, sad.
Day like a tragic actor plays his role
To the last whispered word and falls gold-clad.
I, too, take leave of all I ever had.
An Elegy
© Thomas Randolph
Love, give me leave to serve thee and be wise,
To keep thy torch in but restore blind eyes.
In An Illuminated Missal
© Charles Kingsley
I would have loved: there are no mates in heaven;
I would be great: there is no pride in heaven;
Shemselnihar
© George Meredith
O my lover! the night like a broad smooth wave
Bears us onward, and morn, a black rock, shines wet.
How I shuddered-I knew not that I was a slave,
Till I looked on thy face:- then I writhed in the net.
Then I felt like a thing caught by fire, that her star
Glowed dark on the bosom of Shemselnihar.
Sonnet III. Canzone. (Translated From Milton)
© William Cowper
They mock my toil--the nymphs and am'rous swains--
And whence this fond attempt to write, they cry,
Love, Dreaming of Death
© Charles Harpur
Sat on the earth as on a bier,
Where loss and ruin lived alone,
Without the comfort of a tear
Without a passing groan.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XV
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
COMPLAINING THAT HE HAD FALLEN AMONG THIEVES
Oh, Lytton, I have gambled with my soul,
And, like a spendthrift, pawned my heritage
To pitiless Jews, and paid a monstrous toll
Ultima Thule: Maiden And The Weathercock
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
MAIDEN.
O weathercock on the village spire,
With your golden feathers all on fire,
Tell me, what can you see from your perch
Above there over the tower of the church?
Christmas Eve 1914
© Eugene Field
Silent, to-night, o'er Judah's hills
Bend low the angel throng,
No heavenly music fills the air
Exultantly with song;
I Love My Sweet Armenia's...
© Yeghishe Charents
No matter where I am yet I shall not forget our mournful songs,
Shall not forget our steel-lettered books which now have become prayers,
No matter how sharply they pierce my heart our wounds so soaked with blood,
Even then I love my orphaned and my bloodied, dear Armenia.
