Love poems
/ page 728 of 1285 /
Love Me Little, Love Me Long
© Pierre Reverdy
Love me little, love me long,
Is the burden of my song.
To A Young Gentleman In Love. A Tale
© Matthew Prior
From publick Noise and factious Strife,
From all the busie Ills of Life,
Schemhammphorasch
© Rose Terry Cooke
‘This is the key which was given by the angel Michael to Pali, and by Pali to Moses. If “thou canst read it, then shalt thou understand the words of men, … the whistling of birds, the language of date-trees, the unity of hearts, ... nay, even the thoughts of the rains.”’
Gleanings after the Talmud
The Song of a Prison
© Henry Lawson
Tis a song of the weary warders, whom prisoners call the screws
A class of men who I fancy would cleave to the Evening News.
They look after their treasures sadly. By the screw of their keys they are known,
And they screw them many times daily before they draw their own.
My mother’s body
© Marge Piercy
The dark socket of the year
the pit, the cave where the sun lies down
and threatens never to rise,
when despair descends softly as the snow
covering all paths and choking roads:
A private public space
© Richard Jones
to your party and they don’t come,
they’re too busy tending vaginal
flowers, hating football, walking their golden
and chocolate labs. X gave me a poem
The Sparrow's Fall
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
And lifted the gloomy shadows
That overspread my life,
And flooding my home with gladness,
Made me a happy wife.
In Memoriam A. H. H. OBIIT MDCCCXXXIII: 126
© Alfred Tennyson
Love is and was my Lord and King,
And in his presence I attend
To hear the tidings of my friend,
Which every hour his couriers bring.
Sea Longings
© Thomas Bailey Aldrich
The first world-sound that fell upon my ear
Was that of the great winds along the coast
Eclogue 4: Pollio
© Publius Vergilius Maro
Muses of Sicily, essay we now
A somewhat loftier task! Not all men love
Coppice or lowly tamarisk: sing we woods,
Woods worthy of a Consul let them be.
Parkinson’s Disease
© Washington Allston
While spoon-feeding him with one hand
she holds his hand with her other hand,
The Passing of Love
© Elizabeth Eleanor Siddal
O God, forgive me that I ranged
My life into a dream of love!
Will tears of anguish never wash
The passion from my blood?
Fame
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
HAVE I played fellowship with night, to see
The allied armies break our gates at dawn
The Wild Swans at Coole
© William Butler Yeats
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.
‘Be Music, Night’
© Kenneth Patchen
Be music, night,
That her sleep may go
Where angels have their pale tall choirs
Snail
© Ho Xuan Huong
Mother and father gave birth to a snail
Night and day I crawl in smelly weeds
Dear prince, if you love me, unfasten my door
Stop, don't poke your finger up my tail!
My Beloved Is Mine, And I Am His
© Francis Quarles
EV'N like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having rang'd and search'd a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoyn:
So I my best-beloved's am; so he is mine.
Unknown Girl in the Maternity Ward
© Anne Sexton
Child, the current of your breath is six days long.
You lie, a small knuckle on my white bed;
