Love poems
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To the Muse
© James Wright
I would lie to you
If I could.
But the only way I can get you to come up
Out of the suckhole, the south face
Of the Powhatan pit, is to tell you
What you know:
In Love with You
© Kenneth Koch
We walk through the park in the sun, and you say, “There’s a spider
Of shadow touching the bench, when morning’s begun.” I love you.
I love you fame I love you raining sun I love you cigarettes I love you love
I love you daggers I love smiles daggers and symbolism.
[The Doleful Lay of Clorinda]
© Mary Sidney Herbert
Ay me, to whom shall I my case complain,
That may compassion my impatient grief?
Sonnet XXXII: If thou Survive my Well-contented Day
© William Shakespeare
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
Daddy Longlegs
© Ted Kooser
Here, on fine long legs springy as steel,
a life rides, sealed in a small brown pill
When Thou Must Home to Shades of Underground
© Thomas Campion
When thou must home to shades of underground,
And there arriv'd, a new admired guest,
The beauteous spirits do engirt thee round,
White Iope, blithe Helen, and the rest,
To hear the stories of thy finish'd love
From that smooth tongue whose music hell can move;
Song for Baby-O, Unborn
© Diane di Prima
Sweetheart
when you break thru
you’ll find
a poet here
not quite what one would choose.
The Dead
© Don Paterson
Our business is with fruit and leaf and bloom;
though they speak with more than just the season's tongue—
The Disabled Debauchee
© John Wilmot
As some brave admiral, in former war
Deprived of force, but pressed with courage still,
Two rival fleets appearing from afar,
Crawls to the top of an adjacent hill;
There Is No Word
© Tony Hoagland
There isn’t a word for walking out of the grocery store
with a gallon jug of milk in a plastic sack
that should have been bagged in double layers
Sonnet CXXVI: O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy powr
© William Shakespeare
O thou, my lovely boy, who in thy powr
Dost hold times fickle glass his sickle hour,
To My Father on His Birthday
© Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Amidst the days of pleasant mirth,
That throw their halo round our earth;
Modern Love: IX
© George Meredith
He felt the wild beast in him betweenwhiles
So masterfully rude, that he would grieve
Sonnet CXVI: Let me not to the Marriage of True Minds
© William Shakespeare
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Becune Point
© Derek Walcott
Stunned heat of noon. In shade, tan, silken cows
hide in the thorned acacias. A butterfly staggers.
Stamping their hooves from thirst, small horses drowse
or whinny for water. On parched, ochre headlands, daggers
Who
© Samuel Menashe
Revives a relic
Liquefies dry blood
Touches a corpse
To the quick
Converts a monster to love—
Who made man from mud
You Also, Nightingale
© Reginald Shepherd
Petrarch dreams of pebbles
on the tongue, he loves me
at a distance, black polished stone
skipping the lake that swallows
Paradise Lost: Book I
© Patrick Kavanagh
So spake th' apostate Angel, though in pain,
Vaunting aloud, but rack'd with deep despair.
And him thus answer'd soon his bold compeer:
