Love poems

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I awoke in the Midsummer not to call night, in the white and the walk of the
morning:
The moon, dwindled and thinned to the fringe of a finger-nail held to the
candle,
Or paring of paradisaical fruit, lovely in waning but lustreless,
Stepped from the stool, drew back from the barrow, of dark Maenefa the mountain;

The Wit And The Beau

© Anne Kingsmill Finch

Strephon with change of Habits press'd,
And urg'd her to admire;
His Love alone the Other dress'd,
As Verse, or Prose became it best,
And mov'd her soft Desire.

An Evening Dream

© Sydney Thompson Dobell

I'm leaning where you loved to lean in eventides of old,

The sun has sunk an hour ago behind the treeless wold,

The Fairy Queen's Song

© William Schwenck Gilbert

Oh, amorous dove!
Type of Ovidius Naso!
This heart of mine
Is soft as thine,
Although I dare not say so!

The Presence Of Love

© Samuel Taylor Coleridge

And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
______________________

Letter From A Missionary Of The Methodist Episcopal Church South, In Kansas, To A Distinguished Poli

© John Greenleaf Whittier

LAST week the Lord be praised for all His mercies
To His unworthy servant! I arrived
Safe at the Mission, via Westport; where
I tarried over night, to aid in forming

A Lament for the Fairies

© Alaric Alexander Watts

O, ye have lost,

Mountains, and moors, and meads, the radiant throng

Madhushala (The Tavern)

© Harivansh Rai Bachchan

Seeking wine, the drinker leaves home for the tavern.
Perplexed, he asks, "Which path will take me there?"
People show him different ways, but this is what I have to say,
"Pick a path and keep walking. You will find the tavern."

Suppose

© Walter de la Mare

Suppose ... and suppose that a wild little Horse of Magic
Came cantering out of the sky,
With bridle of silver, and into the saddle I mounted,
To fly and to fly;

Hymn for Atonement Day

© Yehudah HaLevi

Lord, Your humble servants hear,
Suppliant now before You,
Our Father, from Your children's plea
Turn not, we implore You!

A Poet Of One Mood

© Alice Meynell

A poet of one mood in all my lays,
Ranging all life to sing one only love,
Like a west wind across the world I move,
Sweeping my harp of floods mine own wild ways.

The Dying Bard

© Sir Walter Scott

I.
Dinas Emlinn, lament; for the moment is nigh,
When mute in the woodlands thine echoes shall die:
No more by sweet Teivi Cadwallon shall rave,
And mix his wild notes with the wild dashing wave.

My Bohemian Existence

© Arthur Rimbaud

I went off with my hands in my torn coat pockets;
my overcoat too was becoming ideal;
I travelled beneath the sky,
Muse! and I was your vassal;

The Old Violon

"Going, going!" the voice was loud,

And, rising, silenced the chattering crowd.

To My Sister

Across the trackless seas I go,

No matter when or where,

Australasia

Hadst thou, old Cynic, seen this unclad crew
Stretch their bare bodies in the nightly dew,
Like hairy Satyrs, midst their Sylvan seats,
Endure both winter's frosts, and summer's heats;
Thy cloak and tub away thou wouldst have cast,
And tried, like them, to brave the piercing blast.