Love poems

To My Spinning-Wheel

© Dixon Charlotte Eliza

I love thee well my little wheel,And why I love thee I can tell:When tir'd of folly, shew and noise,Of feeling griefs, and feigning joys,Of visiting, and company,And all that's called society,I sought in solitude and peace,To sooth a mind too ill at ease,Thou kindly then thy aid didst lend,I found in thee almost a friend

Another Lady

© Dixon Charlotte Eliza

So excessively lovely, you can't find a fault,So excessively stupid, you can't find a thought,When Nature so lavishly form'd this face,Ah! why of a soul did she leave us no trace?'Twas to prove that the finest of features combin'dAre charmless without the expression of mind

The bustle in the house (1078)

© Emily Dickinson

The bustle in a houseThe morning after deathIs solemnest of industriesEnacted upon earth.

Too Much has Resisted Us

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

i have been thinking of the long arms of peasant girls,of cold streams where the sun washes up on the sand.of far-away places, things i might love,

Sherbourne Morning

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

I begin to understand the old men, parked on benchessmoking a bit of July, waiting for the earlybottle; the large tears of the passers-by, wrappedin white cotton, the world bandaged at 7 AM; when the day goes old, they lean overand nod into their arms, lovers, one-time carriersof their separate hearts; their wives, their childrenare glass partitions through which they see themselvescrying

The Priest

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

i am not really there

The Most Extraordinary Women in the World

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

These are the most extraordinary women in the world,they do not go to bed at 11 p

I Want You to See

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

I want you to see the hole in my shirt where yourheart went through like a Colt 45, and openeda dream at the back of the neck

he fell into my arms and said

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

he fell into my arms and said"sometimes god takes what we love most. he knows best".i agree.so I made up something as i buried his grandchildren.

God and the Fifties

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

It was shady deals andConnie Francis on jukeboxjunipers and chevy convertiblesparked outside Dino's restaurant;it was brighter skies, manageableskyscrapers, gang-fights and Kennedy;it was gambling at Atlantic City withthe Four Seasons, it was crabs andJohnny Unitas and Connie Arena whoteased my heart through ten schoolyears, her father practicing race-trackcornet every day driving us nuts onsuch bored summers of tee-shirtswith cigarette packs at the sleeve andBeachboys and weights

Flying Deeper into the Century

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

Flying deeper into the centuryis exhilarating, the faces of loved ones eaten outslowly, the panhandles of flesh warding offthe air, the smiling plots

Cowboy on Horse in Desert

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

Little cowboy, painted ona paint-by-numbers picturefound in a junk shop

America

© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco

The Tropic of Capricorn someone hadleft on the seat beside me, somewhere betweenUtica and Albany;

Cooper's Hill (1655)

© Sir John Denham

Sure there are poets which did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, we therefore may supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those

Cooper's Hill (1642)

© Sir John Denham

Sure we have poets that did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, and therefore I supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those

Art Thou Poor

© Thomas Dekker

Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers? O sweet content!Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed? O punishment!Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexedTo add to golden numbers, golden numbers?O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring? O sweet content!Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears? O punishment!Then he that patiently want's burden bearsNo burden bears, but is a king, a king:O sweet content! O sweet, O sweet content! Work apace, apace, apace, apace; Honest labour bears a lovely face; Then hey nonny nonny, hey nonny nonny!

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,Smiles awake you when you rise

A Ballad of a Nun

© John Davidson

From Eastertide to Eastertide For ten long years her patient kneesEngraved the stones--the fittest bride Of Christ in all the diocese.

Delia XXXI (1623 version)

© Samuel Daniel

Look, Delia, how w' esteem the half-blown rose,The image of thy blush and summer's honour,Whilst yet her tender bud doth undiscloseThat full of beauty Time bestows upon her

Delia XXXI (1592 version)

© Samuel Daniel

Look, Delia, how we 'steem the half-blown rose,The image of thy blush and summer's honour,Whilst in her tender green she doth encloseThat pure sweet beauty time bestows upon her

Delia XLVI

© Samuel Daniel

Let others sing of knights and paladinesIn aged accents and untimely words;Paint shadows in imaginary linesWhich well the reach of their high wits records:But I must sing of thee, and those fair eyesAuthentic shall my verse in time to come,When yet th' unborn shall say, "Lo where she liesWhose beauty made him speak that else was dumb