Love poems
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The Task: from Book IV: The Winter Evening
© William Cowper
Hark! 'tis the twanging horn! O'er yonder bridge,That with its wearisome but needful lengthBestrides the wintry flood, in which the moonSees her unwrinkled face reflected bright,He comes, the herald of a noisy world,With spatter'd boots, strapp'd waist, and frozen locks;News from all nations lumb'ring at his back
Union Station
© Couture Dani
I cannot love you all and I won't.The shoulder knows the will of the heart.The clam-soft give. The crack of the shell.
To the Hills!
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
'Tis eight miles out, and eight miles in,Just at the break of morn.'Tis ice without and flame within,To gain a kiss at dawn!
The River of Pearls at Fez: Translation
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
One evening we sat togetherBy the river of Pearls at Fez,Stringing verses and sometimes singing
The Net of Memory
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
I cast the Net of Memory,Man's torment and delight,Over the level Sands of YouthThat lay serenely bright,Their tranquil gold at times submergedIn the Spring Tides of Love's Delight.
"Less than the Dust"
© Cory Adela Florence Nicolson
Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,Less than the trust thou hast in me, Oh, Lord, Even less than these!
[To Margot Heinemann]
© Rupert John Cornford
Heart of the heartless world,Dear heart, the thought of youIs the pain at my side,The shadow that chills my view.
There is No Way Out
© Colombo John Robert
One of these days they will come for youit will happen on a day like any other daybut this day at four in the afternoonthey will drive up in their big black Cadillacsthe tall men in overcoatsand they will ask about youtheir black briefcases bulgingtheir synchronized watches ticking
A Song from Shakespeare's Cymbeline
© William Taylor Collins
To fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bringEach op'ning sweet, of earliest bloom, And rifle all the breathing spring.
The Passions
© William Taylor Collins
When Music, heav'nly maid, was young,While yet in early Greece she sung,The Passions oft, to hear her shell,Throng'd around her magic cell,Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,Possest beyond the Muse's painting;By turns they felt the glowing mindDisturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd:Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,From the supporting myrtles roundThey snatch'd her instruments of sound;And as they oft had heard apartSweet lessons of her forceful art,Each, for madness rul'd the hour,Would prove his own expressive pow'r
Song (The Earliest Wish I ever Knew)
© Hartley Coleridge
The earliest wish I ever knewWas woman's kind regard to win;I felt it long e'er passion grew,E'er such a wish could be a sin.
Donne
© Hartley Coleridge
Brief was the reign of pure poetic truthA race of thinkers next, with rhymes uncouth,And fancies fashion'd in laborious brains,Made verses heavy as o'erloaded wains
Marching Men
© Coleman Helena Jane
Flaring bugle, throbbing drum,Onward, onward hear them come,Like a tide along the streetSwells the sound of martial feet;On the breeze their colors streaming,In the sun their rifles gleaming,Pride of country, pride of race
The Lament of the Forest
© Cole Thomas
In joyous Summer, when the exulting earthFlung fragrance from innumerable flowersThrough the wide wastes of heaven, as on she tookIn solitude her everlasting way,I stood among the mountain heights, alone!The beauteous mountains, which the voyagerOn Hudson's breast far in the purple westMagnificent, beholds; the abutments broadWhence springs the immeasurable dome of heaven
Original Pain
© Clarke George Elliott
Rue: Hot pepper of mothers bullwhipped till bloodlava'd down their backs and leapt off their heelswas one-hundred-proof, fire taste of slaveryPops spooned us raw charring first-hand.
