Love poems
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Solitude
© James Lister Cuthbertson
This is the maiden Solitude, too fair
For mortal eyes to gaze on-she who dwells
The School Where I Studied
© Yehuda Amichai
I passed by the school where I studied as a boy
and said in my heart: here I learned certain things
Louisa To Strephon
© Jonathan Swift
Ah! Strephon, how can you despise
Her, who without thy pity dies!
To Strephon I have still been true,
And of as noble blood as you;
The Nymph Complaining for the Death of her Fawn
© Andrew Marvell
I in a golden vial will
Keep these two crystal tears, and fill
It till it do o’erflow with mine,
Then place it in Diana’s shrine.
A Greeting
© John Greenleaf Whittier
Thrice welcome from the Land of Flowers
And golden-fruited orange bowers
Stanzas To the Memory Of George III
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
'Among many nations was there no King like him.' Nehemiah, xiii, 26.
'Know ye not that there is a prince and a great man fallen this day in Israel?' 2 Samuel, iii, 38.
L'Envoi
© James Russell Lowell
Whether my heart hath wiser grown or not,
In these three years, since I to thee inscribed,
Balade
© Sir Henry Newbolt
Nay--for Narcissus, in the forest pond
Seeing his image, made entreaty fond,
"Beloved, comfort on my longing pour":
So for a while he soothed his passion sore;
So cannot I, for all too far is she---
The lady who is queen and love to me.
Sonnet CXLVII: My love is a fever, longing still
© William Shakespeare
My love is a fever, longing still
For that which longer nurseth the disease,
A Clear Midnight
© Walt Whitman
THIS is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless,
Away from books, away from art, the day erased, the lesson done,
Thee fully forth emerging, silent, gazing, pondering the themes thou
lovest best.
Night, sleep, death and the stars.
Friendships Mystery, To my Dearest Lucasia
© Katherine Philips
Come, my Lucasia, since we see
That Miracles Mens faith do move,
By wonder and by prodigy
To the dull angry world lets prove
Theres a Religion in our Love.
Complaint of the Absence of Her Love Being Upon the Sea
© Henry Howard
O happy dames, that may embrace
The fruit of your delight,
From The Spanish Cancioneros
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
II.
Some day, some day
O troubled breast,
Shalt thou find rest.
In Memoriam A. H. H.: 16
© Alfred Tennyson
I hold it true, whate'er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
'Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
Song to Amarantha, that she would Dishevel her Hair
© Richard Lovelace
Amarantha sweet and fair
Ah braid no more that shining hair!
As my curious hand or eye
Hovering round thee let it fly.
A Ballad of François Villon, Prince of All Ballad-Makers
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
Prince of sweet songs made out of tears and fire,
A harlot was thy nurse, a God thy sire;
Shame soiled thy song, and song assoiled thy shame.
But from thy feet now death has washed the mire,
Love reads out first at head of all our quire,
Villon, our sad bad glad mad brother's name.
The Tickle
© Gamaliel Bradford
I like to read confessions
As lengthy as Rousseau's,
With all their slow processions
Of innumerable woes.
