Love poems
/ page 344 of 1285 /
Forebearance
© Ralph Waldo Emerson
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun;
Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk;
The Fop's Blouse
© Vladimir Mayakovsky
I will sew myself black trousers
from the velvet of my voice.
And from three yards of sunset, a yellow blouse.
Along the world's main street, along its glossy lanes,
I will saunter with the gait of Don Juan, a fop.
Sixth Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
When bitter thoughts, of conscience born,
With sinners wake at morn,
Emily Bronte
© Robert Seymour Bridges
Thou hadst all Passion's splendor,
Thou hadst abounding store
Of heaven's eternal jewels,
Beloved; what wouldst thou more?
Sonnet From The Portuguese Of Semedo
© William Cullen Bryant
It is a fearful night; a feeble glare
Streams from the sick moon in the o'erclouded sky;
Disillusioned
© Corinna
People holding hands, daring to love,
children playing, no one left out,
believing in a God, high above,
no reasons given to cry out loud.
A New-Years Burden
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
ALONG the grass sweet airs are blown
Our way this day in Spring.
Breitmann In La Sorbonne
© Charles Godfrey Leland
DER Breitmann sits in la Sorbonne,
A note-pook in his hand,
'Tvas dere he vent to lectures,
Und in oldt Louis le Grand.
To The Golden Heart That He Wore Around His Neck
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
And seeks the forest green,
Proof of imprisonment he bears behind him,
A morsel of the thread once used to bind him;
Cretonne Tropics
© Grace Hazard Conkling
The cretonne in your willow chair
Shows through a zone of rosy air,
A Maid Who Died Old
© Madison Julius Cawein
Frail, shrunken face, so pinched and worn,
That life has carved with care and doubt!
So weary waiting, night and morn,
For that which never came about!
Pale lamp, so utterly forlorn,
In which God's light at last is out.
The Homecomers Song
© Edgar Albert Guest
Then it's home once again,
Where the dear ones await,
And it's back in the land of the free;
And it's back once again
In my own native state,
This country's the country for me.
Victoria Regina
© Sir Henry Newbolt
A thousand years by sea and land
Our race hath served the island kings,
But not by custom's dull command
To-day with song her Empire rings:
When the Ladies Come to the Shearing Shed
© Henry Lawson
THE LADIES are coming, the super says
To the shearers sweltering there,
Ode
© Richard Lovelace
I.
You are deceiv'd; I sooner may, dull fair,
Seat a dark Moor in Cassiopea's chair,
Or on the glow-worm's uselesse light
To Edward Dowden: On Receiving From Him A Copy Of "The Life Of Shelley"
© William Watson
First, ere I slake my hunger, let me thank
The giver of the feast. For feast it is,
Hay
© Ted Hughes
The grass is happy
To run like the sea, to be glossed like a minks fur
By polishing wind.
Her heart is the weather.
She loves nobody
Least of all the farmer who leans on the gate.
Isabella; Or, The Pot Of Basil: A Story From Boccaccio
© John Keats
I.
Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
