Love poems

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A Woman Waits for Me.

© Walt Whitman

A WOMAN waits for meshe contains all, nothing is lacking,
Yet all were lacking, if sex were lacking, or if the moisture of the right man were
lacking.

FAR hence, amid an isle of wondrous beauty,
Crouching over a grave, an ancient, sorrowful mother,
Once a queennow lean and tatterd, seated on the ground,
Her old white hair drooping disheveld round her shoulders;

In Cabind Ships at Sea.

© Walt Whitman

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IN cabind ships, at sea,
The boundless blue on every side expanding,
With whistling winds and music of the wavesthe large imperious wavesIn

I Sit and Look Out.

© Walt Whitman

I SIT and look out upon all the sorrows of the world, and upon all oppression and shame;
I hear secret convulsive sobs from young men, at anguish with themselves, remorseful after
deeds
done;

Long I Thought that Knowledge.

© Walt Whitman

LONG I thought that knowledge alone would suffice meO if I could but obtain
knowledge!
Then my lands engrossed meLands of the prairies, Ohios land, the southern
savannas,

Poem of Joys.

© Walt Whitman

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O TO make the most jubilant poem!
Even to set off these, and merge with these, the carols of Death.
O full of music! full of manhood, womanhood, infancy!

So Long.

© Walt Whitman

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TO concludeI announce what comes after me;
I announce mightier offspring, orators, days, and then, for the present, depart.

Miracles.

© Walt Whitman

WHY! who makes much of a miracle?
As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,

When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloomd.

© Walt Whitman

1
WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloomd,
And the great star early droopd in the western sky in the night,
I mourndand yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ashes of Soldiers.

© Walt Whitman

ASHES of soldiers!
As I muse, retrospective, murmuring a chant in thought,
Lo! the war resumesagain to my sense your shapes,
And again the advance of armies.

Song at Sunset.

© Walt Whitman

SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me!
Hour prophetichour resuming the past!
Inflating my throatyou, divine average!
You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.

Walt Whitman.

© Walt Whitman

1
I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you.

Night Ray

© Paul Celan

Most brightly of all burned the hair of my evening loved one:
to her I send the coffin of lightest wood.
Waves billow round it as round the bed of our dream in Rome;
it wears a white wig as I do and speaks hoarsely:

Twelve Years

© Paul Celan

The line
that remained, that
became true: . . . your
house in Paris -- become
the alterpiece of your hands.

Corona

© Paul Celan

Autunm eats its leaf out of my hand: we are friends.
From the nuts we shell time and we teach it to walk:
then time returns to the shell.

Transcription Of Organ Music

The flower in the glass peanut bottle formerly in the
kitchen crooked to take a place in the light,
the closet door opened, because I used it before, it
kindly stayed open waiting for me, its owner.

Psalm IV

Now I'll record my secret vision, impossible sight of the face of God:
It was no dream, I lay broad waking on a fabulous couch in Harlem
having masturbated for no love, and read half naked an open book of Blake
on my lap

In The Baggage Room At Greyhound

IIn the depths of the Greyhound Terminal
sitting dumbly on a baggage truck looking at the sky
waiting for the Los Angeles Express to depart
worrying about eternity over the Post Office roof in