Love poems
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Sonnet 150: O from what power hast thou this powerful might
© William Shakespeare
O, from what power hast thou this powerful might
With insufficiency my heart to sway?
To make me give the lie to my true sight,
And swear that brightness doth not grace the day?
Sonnet 15: When I consider every thing that grows
© William Shakespeare
When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment.
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment.
Sonnet 149: Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not
© William Shakespeare
Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not,
When I against my self with thee partake?
Do I not think on thee when I forgot
Am of my self, all tyrant, for thy sake?
Sonnet 148: O me! what eyes hath love put in my head
© William Shakespeare
O me! what eyes hath love put in my head,
Which have no correspondence with true sight!
Or, if they have, where is my judgment fled,
That censures falsely what they see aright?
Sonnet 144: Two loves I have, of comfort and despair
© William Shakespeare
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair,
Which like two spirits do suggest me still:
The better angel is a man right fair,
The worser spirit a woman coloured ill.
The Vain Question
© Ada Cambridge
Why should we court the storms that rave and rend,
Safe at our household hearth?
Why, starved and naked, without home or friend,
Unknowing whence we came or where we wend,
Follow from no beginning to no end
An uncrowned martyr's path?
Sonnet 141: In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
© William Shakespeare
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes,
For they in thee a thousand errors note;
But 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,
Who in despite of view is pleased to dote.
A Vision of Poesy - Part 01
© Henry Timrod
In a far country, and a distant age,
Ere sprites and fays had bade farewell to earth,
A boy was born of humble parentage;
The stars that shone upon his lonely birth
Did seem to promise sovereignty and fame -
Yet no tradition hath preserved his name.
Sonnet 140: Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
© William Shakespeare
Be wise as thou art cruel; do not press
My tongue-tied patience with too much disdain,
Lest sorrow lend me words and words express
The manner of my pity-wanting pain.
The Canoe
© Isabella Valancy Crawford
My masters twain made me a bed
Of pine-boughs resinous, and cedar;
The Metropolitan Tower
© Sara Teasdale
We walked together in the dusk
To watch the tower grow dimly white,
And saw it lift against the sky
Its flower of amber light.
The Culprit Fay
© Joseph Rodman Drake
His sides are broken by spots of shade,
By the walnut bough and the cedar made,
And through their clustering branches dark
Glimmers and dies the fire-fly's spark -
Like starry twinkles that momently break
Through the rifts of the gathering tempest's rack.
Sonnet 137: Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes
© William Shakespeare
Thou blind fool, Love, what dost thou to mine eyes
That they behold and see not what they see?
They know what beauty is, see where it lies,
Yet what the best is, take the worst to be.
The Heart's House
© Sara Teasdale
My heart is but a little house
With room for only three or four,
And it was filled before you knocked
Upon the door.
The Tragedy
© Richard Harris Barham
Quæque ipse miserrima vidi.- VIRGIL.
Catherine of Cleves was a Lady of rank,
Last Night
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Where were you last night? I watched at the gate;
I went down early, I stayed down late.
Were you snug at home, I should like to know,
Or were you in the coppice wheedling Kate?
Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun
© William Shakespeare
My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
Sonnet 13: O, that you were your self! But, love, you are
© William Shakespeare
O, that you were your self! But, love, you are
No longer yours than you yourself here live.
Against this coming end you should prepare,
And your sweet semblance to some other give.
A Mountain Spring
© Henry Kendall
Peace hath an altar there. The sounding feet
Of thunder and the wildering wings of rain
