Love poems
/ page 57 of 1285 /
To William Lloyd Garrison
© John Greenleaf Whittier
CHAMPION of those who groan beneath
Oppression's iron hand:
In view of penury, hate, and death,
I see thee fearless stand.
Lost in the Flood
© Henry Kendall
WHEN God drave the ruthless waters
From our cornfields to the sea,
"The Undying One" - Canto III
© Caroline Norton
"I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!
Tipperary
© Thomas Osborne Davis
Let Britain boast her British hosts,
About them all right little care we;
Not British seas nor British coasts
Can match the Man of Tipperary!
Shadows of His Lady
© Jacques Tahureau
What Parian marble that is loveliest,
Can match the whiteness of her brow and breast?
When drew she breath from the Sabaean glade?
Oh happy rock and river, sky and sea,
Gardens, and glades Sabaean, all that be
The far-off splendid semblance of my maid!
Epipsychidion
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sweet Spirit! Sister of that orphan one,
Whose empire is the name thou weepest on,
In my heart's temple I suspend to thee
These votive wreaths of withered memory.
Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-Four
© Henry Kendall
I HEAR no footfall beating through the dark,
A lonely gust is loitering at the pane;
There is no sound within these forests stark
Beyond a splash or two of sullen rain;
The Idlers Calendar. Twelve Sonnets For The Months. May
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE LONDON SEASON
I still love London in the month of May,
By an old habit, spite of dust and din.
I love the fair adulterous world, whose way
The Field Of Battle
© James Henry Leigh Hunt
The Deed of Blood is o'er!
And, hark, the Trumpet's mournful breath
Low murmurs round it a Note of Death
The Mighty are no more!
With the Tide
© Edith Wharton
Somewhere I read, in an old book whose name
Is gone from me, I read that when the days
The Stricken Hart
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
The stricken hart had fled the brake,
His courage spent for life's dear sake.
He came to die beside the lake.
Before Sleep
© Archibald Lampman
Now the creeping nets of sleep
Stretch about and gather nigh,
And the midnight dim and deep
Like a spirit passes by,
Trailing from her crystal dress
Dreams and silent frostiness.
Enough
© Muriel Stuart
Did he forget? . . . I do not remember,
All I had of him once I still have to-day;
He was lovely to me as the word, "amber,"
As the taste of honey and the smell of hay.
Written In Australia
© Arthur Henry Adams
THE WIDE sun stares without a cloud:
Whipped by his glances truculent
The Nuptials Of Attila
© George Meredith
Hatred of that abject slave,
Earth, was in each chieftain's heart.
Earth has got him, whom God gave,
Earth may sing, and earth shall smart!
Attila, my Attila!
The Supreme Hour
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
THERE comes all hour when all life's joys and pains
To our raised vision seem
But as the flickering phantom that remains
Of some dead midnight dream!
Vaudracour And Julia
© William Wordsworth
O HAPPY time of youthful lovers (thus
My story may begin) O balmy time,
In which a love-knot on a lady's brow
Is fairer than the fairest star in heaven!
CXV: Spring
© Alfred Tennyson
Now fades the last long streak of snow,
Now burgeons every maze of quick
About the flowering squares, and thick
By ashen roots the violets blow.
The Land Of Illusion
© Madison Julius Cawein
So we had come at last, my soul and I,
Into that land of shadowy plain and peak,
On which the dawn seemed ever about to break
On which the day seemed ever about to die.
