Love poems
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Ambition
© Edward Thomas
Unless it was that day I never knew
Ambition. After a night of frost, before
Ode To The Poppy
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Written by a deceased friend.
NOT for the promise of the labour'd field,
Girl To A Soldier On leave
© Isaac Rosenberg
Girl To A Soldier On Leave
Love! You love me your eyes
Have looked through death at mine.
You have tempted a grave too much
I let you I repine.
Hymns to the Night : 4
© Novalis
Now I know when will come the last morning - when the Light no more scares away Night and Love - when sleep shall be without waking, and but one continuous dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy grave, and crushing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, imperceptible to the ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom of the mound against whose foot breaks the flood of the world, he who has tasted it, he who has stood on the mountain frontier of the world, and looked across into the new land, into the abode of the Night - truly he turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the land where dwells the Light in ceaseless unrest.
On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles - tabernacles of peace, there longs and loves and gazes across, until the welcomest of all hours draws him down into the waters of the spring - afloat above remains what is earthly, and is swept back in storms, but what became holy by the touch of love, runs free through hidden ways to the region beyond, where, like fragrances, it mingles with love asleep.
Sonnett - XVIII
© James Russell Lowell
THE SAME CONTINUED
Therefore think not the Past is wise alone,
In The Month When Sings The Cuckoo
© Alfred Austin
But if now I slept, I should sleep to wake
To the sleepless pang and the dreamless ache,
To the wild babe blossom within my heart,
To the darkening terror and swelling smart,
To the searching look and the words apart,
And the hint of the tell-tale cuckoo.
Bagpipe Music
© Louis MacNeice
It's no go the merrygoround, it's no go the rickshaw,
All we want is a limousine and a ticket for the peepshow.
Their knickers are made of crepe-de-chine, their shoes are made of python,
Their halls are lined with tiger rugs and their walls with head of bison.
The Love Letter
© Nikolay Alekseyevich Nekrasov
Letter of love so strangely thrilling
With all your countless wonder yet,
Ghazal 3
© Daagh Dehlvi
na maza hai dushmani main na hai lutf dosti main
koi gair gair hota koi yar yar hota
The Future Of Australia
© Mary Hannay Foott
The fireside carols and battle rhymes,
And romaunt of the knightly ring;
And the chant with hint of cathedral chimes,
Of him made blind to sing.
The Adventures Of Little Bob Bonnyface
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
(Don't you think that his was a wretched plight?
Just picture a boy from a bird in flight!
His heart and his knee-joints weak with fright.)
Love Sonnet XXVIII
© Zora Bernice May Cross
My Poet, let the tempest rise once more,
Until from spirit out of spirit, wise
And free, we draw our own youth back again
My dimpled chin, your eyes; and learn the lore
Of everlasting life and all emprise
From the sweet child that comes to us through pain.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part IV: Vita Nova: LXXXVII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME CONTINUED
Thy ways were not my ways. Thy life was peace,
And mine has been a battle. Thou didst store
Thy soul's wealth sternly to a sure increase,
Hon. James B. Clay
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
DIED JANUARY 26th, 1864, THE HON. JAMES B. CLAY, OF ASHLANDS, KENTUCKY, ELDEST SON OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS HENRY CLAY.
Another pang for Southern hearts,
Life
© Madison Julius Cawein
There is never a thing we dream or do
But was dreamed and done in the ages gone;
Everything's old; there is nothing that's new,
And so it will be while the world goes on.
