Love poems
/ page 661 of 1285 /Sonnet CX: Alas, 'tis True I have Gone here and there
© William Shakespeare
Alas, 'tis true I have gone here and there
And made myself a motley to the view,
Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood
© André Breton
The child is father of the man;
And I could wish my days to be
The Book of Hours
© Boris Pasternak
Like the blue angels of the nativity, the museum patrons
hover around the art historian, who has arrived frazzled
Snow-Bound: A Winter Idyl
© John Greenleaf Whittier
To the Memory of the Household It Describes
This Poem is Dedicated by the Author
The Waste Carpet
© William Matthews
O California, sportswear
and defense contracts, gasses that induce
deference, high school girls
with their own cars, we wanted
to love you without pain.
Sonnet CIX: O! never say that I was false of heart
© William Shakespeare
O! never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify.
Nox Borealis
© Louis Zukofsky
If Socrates drank his portion of hemlock willingly,
if the Appalachians have endured unending ages of erosion,
if the wind can learn to read our minds
and moonlight moonlight as a master pickpocket,
surely we can contend with contentment as our commission.
The Uniform
© Marvin Bell
Of the sleeves, I remember their weight, like wet wool,
on my arms, and the empty ends which hung past my hands.
This Room and Everything in It
© Li-Young Lee
Lie still now
while I prepare for my future,
certain hard days ahead,
when I’ll need what I know so clearly this moment.
The Secular Masque
© John Dryden
JANUS
Since Momus comes to laugh below,
Old Time begin the show,
That he may see, in every scene,
What changes in this age have been,
Ellen West
© Frank Bidart
I love sweets,—
heaven
would be dying on a bed of vanilla ice cream ...
But my true self
September Notebook: Stories
© Robert Hass
Driving up 80 in the haze, they talked and talked.
(Smoke in the air shimmering from wildfires.)
His story was sad and hers was roiled, troubled.
On the Departure of the Nightingale
© Charlotte Turner Smith
Sweet poet of the woods, a long adieu!
Farewell soft mistrel of the early year!
The Princess: Tears, Idle Tears
© Alfred Tennyson
Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.
Oft, in the Stilly Night (Scotch Air)
© Thomas Moore
Oft, in the stilly night,
Ere slumbers chain has bound me,