Love poems

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Sonnet II

© Paul Hamilton Hayne

I FEAR thee not, O Death! nay oft I pine
To clasp thy passionless bosom to mine own,
And on thy heart sob out my latest moan,
Ere lapped and lost in thy strange sleep divine;

Fanny

© John Betjeman

Part Four of “Pro Femina”

At Samoa, hardly unpacked, I commenced planting,

Rondeau Redoublé (and Scarcely Worth the Trouble, at That)

© Dorothy Parker

The same to me are sombre days and gay.
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,
Because my dearest love is gone away
Within my heart is melancholy night.

Christmas Day, 1850

© George MacDonald

Beautiful stories wed with lovely days
Like words and music:-what shall be the tale
Of love and nobleness that might avail
To express in action what this sweetness says-

Exultation

© Emma Lazarus

BEHOLD, I walked abroad at early morning,
The fields of June were bathed in dew and lustre,
The hills were clad with light as with a garment.

You said that you loved the lark more than any other bird because of its straight flight toward the sun. That is how I wanted our flight to be.
Albatrosses fly over the sea, intoxicated by salt and iodine. They are like unfettered waves playing in the air, but they do not lose touch with the other waves.
Storks make long journeys; they cast shadows over the Earths face. But like albatrosses, they fly horizontally, resting in the hills.
Only the lark leaps out of ruts like a live dart, and rises, swallowed by the heavens. Then the sky feels as though the Earth itself has risen. Heavy jungles below do not answer the lark. Mountains crucified over the flatlands do not answer.

After Thomas Kempis

© George MacDonald

Who follows Jesus shall not walk
In darksome road with danger rife;
But in his heart the Truth will talk,
And on his way will shine the Life.

The Lost Child

© Henry Cuyler Bunner

Heres a reward for wholl find Love!
Love is a-straying
Ever since Maying,
Hither and yon, below, above,
All are seeking Love!

from [Eve Describes Her Creation] from Paradise Lost, Book 4

© Patrick Kavanagh

That day I oft remember, when from sleep

I first awak’d and found myself repos’d,

The Spirit Of The Snow

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

The night brings forth the morn-
Of the cloud is lightning born;
From out the darkest earth the brightest roses grow.
Bright sparks from black flints fly,
And from out a leaden sky
Comes the silvery-footed Spirit of the Snow.

To a Gentleman and Lady on the Death of the Lady's Brother and Sister, and a Child of the Name Avis, Aged One Year

© Phillis Wheatley

But, Madam, let your grief be laid aside,
And let the fountain of your tears be dry'd,
In vain they flow to wet the dusty plain,
Your sighs are wafted to the skies in vain,
Your pains they witness, but they can no more,
While Death reigns tyrant o'er this mortal shore.

To the Angel Spirit of the Most Excellent Sir Philip Sidney

© Mary Sidney Herbert

(Variant printed in Samuel Daniel’s 1623 Works)

To thee, pure spirit, to thee alone addressed

The Forest Boy

© Charlotte Turner Smith

THE trees have now hid at the edge of the hurst
The spot where the ruins decay
Of the cottage, where Will of the Woodland was nursed,
And lived so beloved, till the moment accursed