Love poems
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Modern Love XXII: What May the Woman
© George Meredith
What may the woman labour to confess?
There is about her mouth a nervous twitch.
Modern Love XX: I Am Not of Those
© George Meredith
I am not of those miserable males
Who sniff at vice and, daring not to snap,
Modern Love XVI: In Our Old Shipwrecked Days
© George Meredith
In our old shipwrecked days there was an hour,
When in the firelight steadily aglow,
Modern Love XLVI: At Last We Parley
© George Meredith
At last we parley: we so strangely dumb
In such a close communion! It befell
Modern Love XIV: What Soul Would Bargain
© George Meredith
What soul would bargain for a cure that brings
Contempt the nobler agony to kill?
Modern Love L: Thus Piteously Love
© George Meredith
Thus piteously Love closed what he begat:
The union of this ever-diverse pair!
Modern Love II: It Ended, and the Morrow
© George Meredith
It ended, and the morrow brought the task.
Her eyes were guilty gates, that let him in
Modern Love I: By This He Knew She Wept
© George Meredith
By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
That, at his hand's light quiver by her head,
America
© Claude McKay
Although she feeds me bread of bitterness,
And sinks into my throat her tiger's tooth,
Eugenia Todd
© Edgar Lee Masters
Have any of you, passers-by,
Had an old tooth that was an unceasing discomfort?
Opening the Moorish Grate
© José Martí
Opening the moorish grate
To lean upon the wet sill,
Pale as the moon, and so still,
A lover ponders his fate.
A Sincere Man Am I
© José Martí
A sincere man am I
From the land where palm trees grow,
And I want before I die
My soul's verses to bestow.
Inheritance-His
© Audre Lorde
Does an image of return
wealthy and triumphant
warm your chilblained fingers
as you count coins in the Manhattan snow
or is it only Linda
who dreams of home?
To Zo?
© Walter Savage Landor
Against the groaning mast I stand,
The Atlantic surges swell,
To bear me from my native land
And Zo?'s wild farewell.
F?sulan Idyl
© Walter Savage Landor
She drew back
The boon she tendered, and then, finding not
The ribbon at her waist to fix it in,
Dropt it, as loth to drop it, on the rest.
from Flying Home
© Galway Kinnell
that love is hard,
that while many good things are easy, true love is not,
because love is first of all a power,
its own power,
which continually must make its way forward, from night
into day, from transcending union always forward into difficult day.
