Love poems
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Judging Distances
© Henry Reed
Not only how far away, but the way that you say it
Is very important. Perhaps You may never get
The knack of judging a distance, but at least you know
How to report on a landscape: the central sector,
The right of the arc and that, which we had last Tuesday,
And at least you know
The Village Girl And Her High-Born Suitor
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
O maiden, peerless, come dwell with me,
And bright shall I render thy destiny:
Thou shalt leave thy cot by the green hillside,
To dwell in a palace home of pride,
Where crowding menials, with lowly mien,
Shall attend each wish of their lovely queen.
Christmas Hymn
© Edith Nesbit
O CHRIST, born on the holy day,
I have no gift to give my King;
No flowers grow by my weary way;
I have no birthday song to sing.
In the street I met while walking
© Sophus Niels Christen Claussen
In the street I met while walking
Death ... a sight that pleased me so,
auburn locks that told of summer
fair maids skin as white as snow.
Let me live I death requested
in my young hearts pangs of woe!
To His Excellency The Lord Carteret.
© Mary Barber
Why is he hid, who, with such matchloss Art,
Calls forth the Graces that adorn your Heart?
True Poets in their deathless Lays should live,
And share that Immortality they give.
To S. McK.
© Madison Julius Cawein
The fine Falernian or the ray
Of fiery Cæcuban, while gay
We heard Bacchantes shout and yell,
Filled full of Bacchus, and so fell
To dreaming of some Lydia;
Shall we forget?
On the Place de la Concorde
© Amelia Opie
Proud Seine, along thy winding tide
Fair smiles yon plain expanding wide,
And, deckt with art and nature's pride,
Seems formed for jocund revelry.
The Princess: A Medley: Home they Brought her Warrior Dead
© Alfred Tennyson
Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee-
Like summer tempest came her tears-
"Sweet my child, I live for thee."
The Morning Visit
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
The morning visit,--not till sickness falls
In the charmed circles of your own safe walls;
Till fever's throb and pain's relentless rack
Stretch you all helpless on your aching back;
Not till you play the patient in your turn,
The morning visit's mystery shall you learn.
First Love
© Edward Dowden
My long first year of perfect love,
My deep new dream of joy; She was a little chubby girl,
I was a chubby boy.
Dreams
© Virna Sheard
KEEP thou thy dreamsthough joy should pass thee by;
Hold to the rainbow beauty of thy thought;
It is for dreams that men will oft-times die
And count the passing pain of death as nought.
The Princess: A Medley: O Swallow
© Alfred Tennyson
O were I thou that she might take me in,
And lay me on her bosom, and her heart
Would rock the snowy cradle till I died.
Beeny Cliff [March 1870 - March 1913]
© Thomas Hardy
I
O the opal and the sapphire of that wandering western sea,
And the woman riding high above with bright hair flapping free -
The woman whom I loved so, and who loyally loved me.
To The British Channel
© Robert Bloomfield
Roll, roll thy white waves, and enveloped in foam,
Pour thy tides round the echoing shore;
Thou guard of Old Englandmy country, my home!
And my soul shall rejoice in the roar!
First Communions
© Arthur Rimbaud
Truly, theyre stupid, these village churches
Where fifteen ugly chicks soiling the pillars
Listen, trilling out their divine responses,
To a black freak whose boots stink of cellars:
But the sun wakes now, through the branches,
The irregular stained-glasss ancient colours.
Sweet Is The Solace Of Thy Love
© Anna Laetitia Waring
Sweet is the solace of Thy love,
My Heavenly Friend, to me,
While through the hidden way of faith
I journey home with Thee,
Learning by quiet thankfulness
As a dear child to be.
Wood Magic
© Margaret Elizabeth Sangster
The woods lay dreaming in a topaz dream,
And we, who silently roamed hand in hand,
Were pilgrims in a strange, enchanted land,
Where life was love, and love was all a-gleam.
Letter To Maria Gisborne
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
The spider spreads her webs, whether she be
In poet's tower, cellar, or barn, or tree;
The silk-worm in the dark green mulberry leaves
His winding sheet and cradle ever weaves;
Elegy V
© Henry James Pye
Thee, sad Melpomene, I once again
Invoke, nor ask the idly plaintive verse:
