Love poems
/ page 406 of 1285 /
Hyperion
© Stefan Anton George
I journeyed home: such flood of blossoms never
Had welcomed me… a throbbing in the field
Childhood
© William Barnes
Aye, at that time our days wer but vew,
An' our lim's wer but small, an' a-growèn;
Heine In Paris
© Kenneth Slessor
LATE: a cold smear of sunlight bathes the room;
The gilt lime of winter, a sun grown melancholy old,
Streams in the glass. Outside, ten thousand chimneys fume,
Looping the weather-birds with rings of gold;
I Call That True Love
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
You gotta wake up every mornin', tip toe in the
kitchen cook me great T-bone steak
Serve it to me in bed go down the street and hustle
bring me back all the money you make
The Starling
© Steen Steensen Blicher
Ah starling! Most welcome, you bird of good cheer!
Are we to have all your pranks again here?
The Triumph of Dead : Chap. 2
© Mary Sidney Herbert
That night, which did the dreadful hap ensue
That quite eclips'd, nay, rather did replace
Glee
© George Borrow
Roseate colours on heavens high arch
Are beginning to mix with the blue and the gray,
The Lake of the Dismal Swamp
© Thomas Moore
"THEY made her a grave too cold and damp
For a soul so warm and true;
And she's gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp,
Where all night long, by a firefly lamp,
She paddles her white canoe.
Emily Hardcastle, Spinster
© John Crowe Ransom
We shall come tomorrow morning, who were not to have her love,
We shall bring no face of envy but a gift of praise and lilies
To the stately ceremonial we are not the heroes of.
Widow
© Sylvia Plath
Widow. The word consumes itself --
Body, a sheet of newsprint on the fire
Levitating a numb minute in the updraft
Over the scalding, red topography
That will put her heart out like an only eye.
Cromwell
© Albert Durrant Watson
This too remember well
I learned it late: None but a tyrant makes
That good prevail that is not in men's hearts,
And tyranny is questionable good.
Therefore must all men learn by liberty,
And with what pain their doings on them bring.
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire
© George Gordon Byron
These are the themes that claim our plaudits now;
These are the bards to whom the muse must bow;
While Milton, Dryden, Pope, alike forgot,
Resign their hallow'd bays to Walter Scott.
Bubblin' Up
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
I used to be a prancer
a one-eyed song and dancer
But eyes for true romance
I didn't even try
The Book of Phillip Sparrow
© John Skelton
It was so prety a fole,
It wold syt on a stole,
And lerned after my scole
For to kepe his cut,
With, "Phyllyp, kepe your cut!"
Selflove And Truth Incompatible
© William Cowper
From thorny wilds a monster came,
That filled my soul with fear and shame;
Sonnet to Twilight
© Helen Maria Williams
Meek Twilight! soften the declining day,
And bring the hour my pensive spirit loves;
Goodnight Little Houseplant
© Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Goodnight little houseplant asleep on the sill
I'll pull the shades so you don't catch a chill
And tomorrow in the morning don't be breaskfast for two
We'll have ham and eggs for me and nitrogen for you
