Love poems
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O my pa-pa
© Richard Jones
Our fathers have formed a poetry workshop.
They sit in a circle of disappointment over our fastballs
Song for Dead Children
© Katha Pollitt
We set great wreaths of brightness on the graves of the passionate
who required tribute of hot July flowers—
for you, O brittle-hearted, we bring offering
remembering how your wrists were thin and your delicate bones
not yet braced for conquering.
The Motorcyclists
© James Tate
but I still can’t eat eggplant. He says I’ll be the first
woman President, it’d be a waste since I talk so much.
Which do you think the fixtures are in the bathroom
at the White House, gold or brass? It’d be okay with me
if they were just brass. Honey, can we stop soon?
I really hate to say it but I need a lady’s room.
Damayante To Nala In The Hour Of Exile
© Sarojini Naidu
O king, thy kingdom who from thee can wrest?
What fate shall dare uncrown thee from this breast,
O god-born lover, whom my love doth gird
And armour with impregnable delight
Of Hope's triumphant keen flame-carven sword?
A Shropshire Lad XII: When I watch the living meet
© Alfred Edward Housman
When I watch the living meet,
And the moving pageant file
Warm and breathing through the street
Where I lodge a little while,
A Rhapsody of a Southern Winter Night
© Henry Timrod
Oh! dost thou flatter falsely, Hope?
The day hath scarcely passed that saw thy birth,
On the Death of Richard West
© Thomas Gray
In vain to me the smiling Mornings shine,
And reddening Phbus lifts his golden fire;
Christmas,1870
© Alfred Austin
Heaven strews the earth with snow,
That neither friend nor foe
May break the sleep of the fast-dying year;
A world arrayed in white,
Late dawns, and shrouded light,
Attest to us once more that Christmas-tide is here.
An Epistle Containing the Strange Medical Experience of Karshish, the Arab Physician
© Robert Browning
Karshish, the picker-up of learning's crumbs,
The not-incurious in God's handiwork
Trapped Dingo
© Judith Wright
So here, twisted in steel, and spoiled with red
your sunlight hide, smelling of death and fear,
The Rape of Europa
© Ovid
From "Metamorphoses," Book II, 846-875
Majesty is incompatible truly with love; they cohabit
A Letter From A Stupid Woman
© Nizar Qabbani
Don't become annoyed, my dear Master,
If I revealed to you my feelings
For the Eastern man
Is not concerned with poetry or feelings
The Eastern man - and forgive my insolence - does not understand women
but over the sheets.
The Redbreast Chasing The Butterfly
© William Wordsworth
ART thou the bird whom Man loves best,
The pious bird with the scarlet breast,
Our little English Robin;
The bird that comes about our doors
Ye Flowery Banks (Bonie Doon)
© Robert Burns
Ye flowery banks o' bonie Doon,
How can ye blume sae fair?
How can ye chant, ye little birds,
And I sae fu' o' care?
H. S. Mauberley (Life and Contacts) [Part I]
© Ezra Pound
E. P. Ode pour l'élection de son sépulchre
For three years, out of key with his time,
He strove to resuscitate the dead art
Of poetry; to maintain "the sublime"
In the old sense. Wrong from the start i
A Song Of The Forest
© Alma Frances McCollum
The Legend of Love-Sick Lake
WHEN you wander alone through the forest
Content and Rich
© Robert Southwell
I dwell in Grace's court,
Enriched with Virtue's rights;
Faith guides my wit, Love leads my will,
Hope all my mind delights.
