Love poems
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The Change
© Henry King
Il sabio mude conseio: Il loco persevera.
We lov'd as friends now twenty years and more:
Is't time or reason think you to give o're?
When though two prentiships set Jacob free,
Sunny Days In Winter
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Summer is a glorious season
Warm, and bright, and pleasant;
The Complaint unto Pity
© Geoffrey Chaucer
Pite, that I have sought so yore agoo
With herte soore and ful of besy peyne,
The Dog Star Pup
© Henry Herbert Knibbs
On the silver edge of a vacant star near the trembling Pleiades,
A Hobo, lately arrived from earth sat rubbing his rusty chin,
All unaware, as he waited there with his elbows on his knees,
That an angel stood at the Golden Gate, impatient to let him in.
Warning And Reply
© Emily Jane Brontë
In the earth-the earth-thou shalt be laid,
A grey stone standing over thee;
Black mould beneath thee spread,
And black mould to cover thee.
To Caroline
© George Gordon Byron
Think'st thou I saw thy beauteous eyes,
Suffus'd in tears, implore to stay;
And heard unmov'd thy plenteous sighs,
Which said far more than words can say?
Dulnesse
© George Herbert
Why do I languish thus, drooping and dulle,
As if I were all earth?
Oh give me quicknesse, that I may with mirth
Praise thee brim-full!
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXVIII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
Again Love left you. With appealing eyes
You watched him go, and lips apart to speak.
He left you, and once more the sun did rise
Prosopopoia : or, Mother Hubbards Tale
© Edmund Spenser
Yet he the name on him would rashly take,
Maugre the sacred Muses, and it make
A servant to the vile affection
Of such, as he depended most upon;
And with the sugrie sweete thereof allure
Chast Ladies eares to fantasies impure.
I Cannot Love Thee!
© Caroline Norton
When thy tongue (ah! woe is me!)
Whispers love-vows tenderly,
Mine is shaping, all unheard,
Fragments of some withering word,
The Young that Died in Beauty
© William Barnes
If souls should only sheen so bright
In heaven as in ethly light,
An nothen better wer the cease,
How comely still, in sheape an feace,
Sunday After Ascension
© John Keble
The Earth that in her genial breast
Makes for the down a kindly nest,
Where wafted by the warm south-west
It floats at pleasure,
Yields, thankful, of her very best,
To nurse her treasure:
The Kiss
© Rabindranath Tagore
Lips' language to lips' ears.
Two drinking each other's heart, it seems.
To The Lake
© Edgar Allan Poe
In spring of youth it was my lot
To haunt of the wide world a spot
The which I could not love the less-
So lovely was the loneliness
Of a wild lake, with black rock bound,
And the tall pines that towered around.
