Love poems
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From Myrtis
© Walter Savage Landor
FRIENDS, whom she lookd at blandly from her couch
And her white wrist above it, gem-bedewd,
Were arguing with Pentheusa: she had heard
Report of Creons death, whom years before
The Hammock's Complaint
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Who thinks how desolate and strange
To me must seem the autumn's change,
When housed in attic or in chest,
A lonely and unwilling guest,
I lie through nights of bleak December,
And think in silence, and remember.
Love's Reveller.
© Robert Crawford
Hard have you won her, and must hold as fast!
She is Love's reveller those tawny eyes
Are up and down still in warm passion cast,
And woe betide the soul whom they surprise!
Untimely Love
© Mathilde Blind
Poor helpless blossom orphaned of the sun,
How could it thus brave winter's rude estate?
Oh love, more helpless, why bloom so late,
Now that the flower-time of the year is done?
Since thy dear course must end when scarce begun,
Nipped by the cold touch of relentless fate.
The Shadows
© George MacDonald
My little boy, with smooth, fair cheeks,
And dreamy, large, brown eyes,
Not often, little wisehead, speaks,
But hearing, weighs and tries.
Cadenabbia. Lake Of Como. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fourth)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
No sound of wheels or hoof-beat breaks
The silence of the summer day,
As by the loveliest of all lakes
I while the idle hours away.
To Songs At the Marriage Of The Lord Fauconberg And The Lad
© Andrew Marvell
Endymion
Cynthia, O Cynthia, turn thine Ear,
nor scorn Endymions plaints to hear.
As we our Flocks, so you command
The fleecy Clouds with silver wand.
A Farewell
© Alfred Austin
Hark! What is that we hear?
A quick-jerked, jocund peal,
Making the fretted church tower reel,
Telling the wakeful of a young New Year,
Young, but of lusty birth,
To face the masked vicissitudes of earth.
The Vine
© Henry James Pye
Like clustering tents upon the embattled mead,
See Vitis thick her small pavilions spread.
When We Understand The Plan
© Edgar Albert Guest
I reckon when the world we leave
And cease to smile and cease to grieve,
When each of us shall quit the strife
And drop the working tools of life,
Somewhere, somehow, we'll come to find
Just what our Maker had in mind.
The Jolly Dead March
© Henry Lawson
If I ever be worthy or famous
Which Im sadly beginning to doubt
To My Brooklet. (From The French Of Ducis)
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Thou brooklet, all unknown to song,
Hid in the covert of the wood!
Ah, yes, like thee I fear the throng,
Like thee I love the solitude.
To Mrs. Goodchild
© Charles Stuart Calverley
The night-wind's shriek is pitiless and hollow,
The boding bat flits by on sullen wing,
And I sit desolate, like that "one swallow"
Who found (with horror) that he'd not brought spring:
Lonely as he who erst with venturous thumb
Drew from its pie-y lair the solitary plum.
In The Meadows At Mantua
© Arthur Symons
But to have lain upon the grass
One perfect day, one perfect hour,
Beholding all things mortal pass
Into the quiet of green grass;
Song #3
© John Clare
I peeled bits of straws and I got switches too
From the grey peeling willow as idlers do,
Rubaiyat 28
© Shams al-Din Hafiz
Dont let go of the cups lips
Till you receive your worldly tips.
Bittersweet is the worlds cup
From lovers lips and the cup sips.
The Fatherland
© James Russell Lowell
Where is the true man's fatherland?
Is it where he by chance is born?
Doth not the yearning spirit scorn
In such scant borders to be spanned?
Oh yes! his fatherland must be
As the blue heaven wide and free!
