Love poems
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If love be holy, if that mystery
© John Marston
If love be holy, if that mystery
O co-united hearts be sacrament;
If the unbounded goodness have infused
A sacred ardour of a mutual love
A Hero Gone
© John Greenleaf Whittier
He has done the work of a true man--
Crown him, honor him, love him;
Weep over him, tears of woman,
Stoop, manliest brows, above him!
The Water-Course
© George Herbert
Thou who dost dwell and linger here below,
Since the condition of this world is frail,
Where of all plants afflictions soonest grow;
If troubles overtake thee, do not wail:
To the Temple I Repair
© James Montgomery
To Thy temple I repair;
Lord, I love to worship there
When within the veil I meet
Christ before the mercy seat.
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto VII.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
Preludes.
I Joy and Use
The Daisies
© Edith Nesbit
In the great green park with the wooden palings -
The wooden palings so hard to climb,
The Ideal
© Frances Anne Kemble
Thou shalt behold it once, and once believe
Thou may'st possess itLove shall make the dream,
At a Certain Age by Deborah Cummins: American Life in Poetry #138 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 200
© Ted Kooser
You've surely heard it said that the old ought to move over to make room for the young. But in the best of all possible worlds, people who love their work should be able to do it as long as they wish. Those forced to retire, well, they're a sorry lot. Here the Chicago poet, Deborah Cummins, shows a man trying to adjust to life after work.
At a Certain Age
To My Brothers
© Norman Rowland Gale
O BROTHERS, who must ache and stoop
Oer wordy tasks in London town,
Teresinas Face
© Margaret Widdemer
He saw it last of all before they herded in the steerage,
Dark against the sunset where he lingered by the hold,
The tear-stained dusk-rose face of her, the little Teresina,
Sailing out to lands of gold:
The Net-Menders
© Sylvia Plath
Halfway up from the little harbor of sardine boats,
Halfway down from groves where the thin, bitter almond pips
Fatten in green-pocked pods, the three net-menders sit out,
Dressed in black, everybody in mourning for someone.
They set their stout chairs back to the road and face the dark
Dominoes of their doorways.
The Last Survivor
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
YES! the vacant chairs tell sadly we are going, going fast,
And the thought comes strangely o'er me, who will live to be the last?
When the twentieth century's sunbeams climb the far-off eastern hill,
With his ninety winters burdened, will he greet the morning still?
A Mammon-Marriage
© George MacDonald
The croak of a raven hoar!
A dog's howl, kennel-tied!
Loud shuts the carriage-door:
The two are away on their ghastly ride
To Death's salt shore!
To Maecenas
© Phillis Wheatley
Not you, my friend, these plaintive strains become,
Not you, whose bosom is the Muses home;
When they from tow'ring Helicon retire,
They fan in you the bright immortal fire,
But I less happy, cannot raise the song,
The fault'ring music dies upon my tongue.
Addressed To Miss Macartney, Afterwards Mrs. Greville, On Reading The Prayer For Indifference
© William Cowper
And dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous heaven design'd
The choicest raptures to impact,
To feel the most refined;
Satyr X. Colin
© Thomas Parnell
Divine Orinda now my labours crown
& if my voice or harp have glory won
Thine was the influence thine the glory be
Thee Colin loves & loves thy sex for thee
Peggy
© John Clare
Peggy said good morning and I said good bye,
When farmers dib the corn and laddies sow the rye.
Young Peggy's face was common sense and I was rather shy
When I met her in the morning when the farmers sow the rye.
Week-End
© Harold Monro
I
The train! The twleve o'clock for paradise.
Hurry, or it will try to creep away.
Out in the country every one is wise:
