Love poems
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Then And Now
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
He loved her, and through many years,
Had paid his fair devoted court,
Until she wearied, and with sneers
Turned all his ardent love to sport.
Maryette Myers
© Julia A Moore
Come all you sympathizing friends, wherever you may be,
I pray you pay attention and listen unto me;
For it's of a fair young lady, she died, she went to rest,
She was called handsome Maryette, the lily of the west.
Geraint And Enid
© Alfred Tennyson
Then Enid pondered in her heart, and said:
'I will go back a little to my lord,
And I will tell him all their caitiff talk;
For, be he wroth even to slaying me,
Far liefer by his dear hand had I die,
Than that my lord should suffer loss or shame.'
A Hymn On Contentment
© Thomas Parnell
Lovely lasting Peace appear;
This World it self, if thou art here,
Is once again with Eden bless'd,
And Man contains it in his Breast.
The Creek of the Four Graves [Early Version]
© Charles Harpur
And feeling thus by habit, that poor man
Though the black shadow of untimely death
Hopelessly thickened under every stroke,
Upstruggled desperate, until at last,
One, as in mercy, gave him to the dust,
With all his sorrows.
To H. C.
© William Wordsworth
SIX YEARS OLD
O THOU! whose fancies from afar are brought;
Who of thy words dost make a mock apparel,
And fittest to unutterable thought
A Boston Ballad
© Walt Whitman
Clear the way there, Jonathan!
Way for the President's marshal! Way for the government cannon!
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons-and the apparitions copiously
tumbling.
A Womans Sonnets: II
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Nay, dear one, ask me not to leave thee yet.
Let me a little longer hold thy hand.
Too soon it is to bid me to forget
The joys I was so late to understand.
The Passing Of The Beautiful
© Madison Julius Cawein
On southern winds shot through with amber light,
Breeding soft balm, and clothed in cloudy white,
Sappho I
© Sara Teasdale
MIDNIGHT, and in the darkness not a sound,
So, with hushed breathing, sleeps the autumn night;
Only the white immortal stars shall know,
Here in the house with the low-lintelled door,
Not A Word
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Love, my heart is faint with waiting,
Faint with hope and joy deferred,
All night long at this sad grating,
Sleepless like a prisoned bird,
To The Countess Of Blessington
© George Gordon Byron
You have ask'd for a verse:--the request
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
In Carissimam Memoriam A.S.P.
© Robert Laurence Binyon
To whom but thee, my youth to dedicate,
My youth, which these few leaves have sought to save,
Should I now come, although I come too late,
Alas! and can but lay them on thy grave?
Sleep
© Mathilde Blind
To thee, O star-eyes comforter, we creep,
Earth's ill-used step-children to thee make moan,
As hiding in thy dark skirts' ample sweep;
-Poor debtors whose brief life is not their own;
For dunned by Death, to whom we owe its loan,
Give us, O Night, the interest paid in sleep.
Harmonie du soir (Evening Harmony)
© Charles Baudelaire
Voici venir les temps où vibrant sur sa tige
Chaque fleur s'évapore ainsi qu'un encensoir;
Les sons et les parfums tournent dans l'air du soir;
Valse mélancolique et langoureux vertige!
The Wrestlers
© Wilfred Owen
So neck to neck and obstinate knee to knee
Wrestled those two; and peerless Heracles
She Has Made Me Wayside Posies
© Augusta Davies Webster
Oh blossoms of the paths she loves to tread,
Some grace of her is in all thoughts you bear:
For in my memories of your homes that were
The old sweet loneliness they kept is fled,
And would I think it back I find instead
A presence of my darling mingling there.
Dungog
© Henry Kendall
HERE, pent about by office walls
And barren eyes all day,
Tis sweet to think of waterfalls
Two hundred miles away!
To John Johnson, On His Presenting Me With An Antique Bust Of Homer
© William Cowper
Kinsman beloved, and as a son by me!
When I behold this fruit of thy regard,
The sculptured form of my old favourite bard,
I reverence feel for him, and love for thee.
The Rush-Bearing At Ambleside
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
SUMMER is come, with her leaves and her flowers
Summer is come, with the sun on her hours;
The lark in the clouds, and the thrush on the bough,
And the dove in the thicket, make melody now.
The noon is abroad, but the shadows are cool
Where the green rushes grow in the dark forest pool.
