Love poems

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The Progress of Error

© William Cowper

Sing, muse (if such a theme, so dark, so long

May find a muse to grace it with a song),

A debtor to mercy alone, of covenant mercy I sing;
Nor fear, with Thy righteousness on, my person and offring to bring.
The terrors of law and of God with me can have nothing to do;
My Saviors obedience and blood hide all my transgressions from view.

Love Is A Terrible Thing

© Grace Fallow Norton

"For there is a flame that has blown too near,
And there is a name that has grown too dear,
And there is a fear"...

Ave Caesar! Morituri Te Salutant

© Mary Hannay Foott

And they who raise it enter too,
With spectral looks and noiseless tread,
Unbidden, hold their dread review,
Beside the Emperors very bed.

The Comrades

© Katharine Tynan

The angels walk with men in the red ruin and rain,
White and gold, as of old, without spot or stain.
Our warriors fought and died, the white lords by their side.
The angels walk with men.

Sentence And Torment Of The Condemned

© Michael Wigglesworth

Where tender love mens hearts did move unto a sympathy,
And bearing part of others smart in their anxiety;
Now such compassion is out of fashion, and wholly laid aside:
No Friends so near, but Saints to hear their Sentence can abide.

August Moonrise

© Sara Teasdale

THE sun was gone, and the moon was coming
Over the blue Connecticut hills;
The west was rosy, the east was flushed,
And over my head the swallows rushed

Once When We Bought Valentines

© Margaret Widdemer

Slow we tiptoed in the shop, scarlet-cheeked and shy,
Half-elate, half-afraid to be asked to buy,
Sidling toward the prettiest on their swaying strings,
Laughing at the ugliest, monstrous painted things.
(Still the little thrill of fear life was strange, you knew
What if someone sometime sent one of those to you?)

Italy : 38. Foreign Travel

© Samuel Rogers

It was in a splenetic humour that I sat me down to my
scanty fare at Terracina ; and how long I should have
contemplated the lean thrushes in array before me, I
cannot say, if a cloud of smoke, that drew the tears

Love Worn by Lita Hooper: American Life in Poetry #75 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006

© Ted Kooser

In many American poems, the poet makes a personal appearance and offers us a revealing monologue from center stage, but there are lots of fine poems in which the poet, a stranger in a strange place, observes the lives of others from a distance and imagines her way into them. This poem by Lita Hooper is a good example of this kind of writing. Love Worn

In a tavern on the Southside of Chicago
a man sits with his wife. From their corner booth
each stares at strangers just beyond the other's shoulder,
nodding to the songs of their youth. Tonight they will not fight.

Sonnet. "Have you not heard that in some deep-seal'd graves"

© Frances Anne Kemble

Have you not heard that in some deep-seal'd graves,

The Dead retain in beauty undisturb'd

The Song Of Hiawatha XX: The Famine

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Oh the long and dreary Winter!

Oh the cold and cruel Winter!

Night, on the Sea-shore

© Louisa Stuart Costello

No sound but the waters, that, murmuring, move
No light but the shadowless orb above.
But see! the shadows are gathering fast
The clear bright orb is gone:
Alas! no beauty can ever last,
That e'er I gaze upon!

Sonnet XI

© Pablo Neruda

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.
Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.
Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day
I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.