Love poems
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Autumn.
© Robert Crawford
I in the autumn of my days
Stand by a place of tears,
And hear the unborn children weep
Within the unborn years;
Fast Break
© Edward Hirsch
In Memory of Dennis Turner, 1946-1984
A hook shot kisses the rim and
hangs there, helplessly, but doesn’t drop,
Sonnet To Mrs. Siddons
© Helen Maria Williams
Siddons! the Muse, for many a joy refin'd,
Feelings which ever seem too swiftly fled-
Galatea
© Henry Kendall
A SILVER slope, a fall of firs, a league of gleaming grasses,
And fiery cones, and sultry spurs, and swarthy pits and passes!
Nabokov’s Blues
© William Matthews
The wallful of quoted passages from his work,
with the requisite specimens pinned next
to their literary cameo appearances, was too good
Sonnet L: Beauty, Sweet Love
© Samuel Daniel
Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew
Whose short refresh upon the tender green
Count Gismond—Aix in Provence
© Robert Browning
Christ God who savest man, save most
Of men Count Gismond who saved me!
Count Gauthier, when he chose his post,
Chose time and place and company
To suit it; when he struck at length
My honour, 't was with all his strength.
Italy : 27. The Pilgrim
© Samuel Rogers
It was an hour of universal joy.
The lark was up and at the gate of heaven,
Singing, as sure to enter when he came;
The butterfly was basking in my path,
Remembering
© P. K. Page
Remembering you and reviewing
our structural love
the past re-arises alive
from its smothering dust.
I Went into the Maverick Bar
© Gary Snyder
I went into the Maverick Bar
In Farmington, New Mexico.
And drank double shots of bourbon
backed with beer.
My long hair was tucked up under a cap
I’d left the earring in the car.
Modern Love: XXVI
© George Meredith
Love ere he bleeds, an eagle in high skies,
Has earth beneath his wings: from reddened eve
The Invitation
© George Herbert
Come ye hither all, whose taste
Is your waste;
Save your cost, and mend your fare.
God is here prepar'd and drest,
And the feast,
God, in whom all dainties are.
A Hymn to God the Father
© Benjamin Jonson
Hear me, O God!
A broken heart
Is my best part.
Use still thy rod,
That I may prove
Therein thy Love.
Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. The Musician's Tale; The Ballad of Carmilhan - III.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
The cabin windows have grown blank
As eyeballs of the dead;
No more the glancing sunbeams burn
On the gilt letters of the stern,
But on the figure-head;
To the Fair Clorinda
© Aphra Behn
Thou beauteous Wonder of a different kind,
Soft Cloris with the dear Alexis join’d;
When e’er the Manly part of thee, wou’d plead
Thou tempts us with the Image of the Maid,
While we the noblest Passions do extend
The Love to Hermes, Aphrodite the Friend.
