Love poems
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Joy
© Sara Teasdale
I am wild, I will sing to the trees,
I will sing to the stars in the sky,
I love, I am loved, he is mine,
Now at last I can die!
A Dialogue, intitled, The Kind Master And The Dutiful Servant
© Jupiter Hammon
Master.
Come my servant, follow me,
According to thy place;
And surely God will be with thee,
And send the heav'nly grace.
"The Undying One" - Canto IV
© Caroline Norton
On she goes, and the waves are dashing
Under her stern, and under her prow;
Oh! pleasant the sound of the waters splashing
To those who the heat of the desert know.
The Sleep Of Spring
© John Clare
O for that sweet, untroubled rest
That poets oft have sung!--
The babe upon its mother's breast,
The bird upon its young,
The heart asleep without a pain--
When shall I know that sleep again?
The Garden
© Katharine Tynan
I know a garden like a child,
Clean and new-washed and reconciled.
It grows its own sweet way, yet still
Has guidance of some tender will
That clips, confines, its wilder mood
And makes it happy, being good.
Reply To Rudyard Kipling's Poem: 'he travels the fast who travels alone'
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Who travels alone with his eye on the heights,
Though he laughs in the daytime, oft weeps through the nights;
For courage goes down with the set of the sun,
When the toil of the journey is all borne by one.
He speeds but to grief, though full gaily he ride,
Who travels alone without Love at his side.
To My Husband on Our Wedding-Day
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
I leave for thee, beloved one,
The home and friends of youth,
The Speeches of Gratulations
© Benjamin Jonson
Stay, what art thou, that in this strange attire,
Dar'st kindle stranger, and un-hallowed fire
Upon this Altar?
Don Juan: Canto The Seventeenth
© George Gordon Byron
The world is full of orphans: firstly, those
Who are so in the strict sense of the phrase
A Portrait
© Richard Brinsley Sheridan
Tell me, ye prim adepts in Scandals school,
Who rail by precept, and detract by rule,
O'Connell
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
So let the verse in echoing accents ring,
So proudly sing,
With intermittent wail,
The nation's dead, but sceptred King,
The glory of the Gael.
The Paint-Kings
© Washington Allston
Fair Ellen was long the delight of the young,
No damsel could with her compare;
Her charms were the theme of the heart and the tongue.
And bards without number in extacies sung,
The beauties of Ellen the fair.
The Hidden Room
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
I marvel if my heart,
Hath any room apart,
Built secretly its mystic walls within;
With subtly warded key.
Ne'er yielded unto me--
Where even I have surely never been.
A Word For It
© Franklin Pierce Adams
"Scorn not the sonnet." Well, I reckon not,
I would not scorn a rondeau, villanelle,
The Invitation
© Robert Bloomfield
O for the strength to paint my joy once more!
That joy I feel when Winter's reign is o'er;
Lockerbie Street
© James Whitcomb Riley
Such a dear little street it is, nestled away
From the noise of the city and heat of the day,
In cool shady coverts of whispering trees,
With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze
Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet
With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie street!
