Love poems

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To my Dear Friend Mr. Congreve on his Comedy Call'd the Double Dealer

© John Dryden

Well then; the promis'd hour is come at last;

The present age of wit obscures the past:

Sonnet LXV: Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

© William Shakespeare

Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea

But sad mortality oer-sways their power,

HE has taken away the things that I loved best
Love and youth and the harp that knew my hand.
Laughter alone is left of all the rest.
Does He mean that I may fill my days with laughter,
Or will it, too, slip through my fingers like spilt sand?

Unholy Sonnet 4

© Mark Jarman

Not Dante’s rings, not the Zen zero’s mouth,
Out of which comes and into which light goes,
This God recedes from every metaphor,
Turns the hardest data into untruth,
And fills all blanks with blankness. This love shows
Itself in absence, which the stars adore.

From Lines to William Simson

© Robert Burns

Auld Coila now may fidge fu' fain,
She's gotten poets o' her ain—
Chiels wha their chanters winna hain,
But tune their lays,
Till echoes a' resound again
Her weel-sung praise.

A Poem (With English Translation)

© Ali Sardar Jafri

TU MUJHEY ITNEY PYAR SE MAT DEKH
TERI PALKOn KE NARM SAAYE MEIn
DOBTI CHAAnDINI SI LAGTI HAI
AUR MUJHEY ITNI DOOR JAANAA HAI

Sonnet 114: "Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you,..."

© William Shakespeare

Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you,

Drink up the monarch's plague, this flattery?

The Foggy, Foggy Blue

© Delmore Schwartz

When I was a young man, I loved to write poems

And I called a spade a spade

Love's Clock

© James Russell Lowell

'Bid me not stay!
Hear reason, pray!
'Tis striking six! Sure never day
Was short as this is!'

Love

© Samuel Taylor Coleridge

All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
All are but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.

Song: I prithee spare me gentle boy

© Sir John Suckling

I prithee spare me gentle boy,
Press me no more for that slight toy,
That foolish trifle of an heart;
I swear it will not do its part,
Though thou dost thine, employst thy powr and art.

Wait

© C. K. Williams

Chop, hack, slash; chop, hack, slash; cleaver, boning knife, ax—
not even the clumsiest clod of a butcher could do this so crudely,
time, as do you, dismember me, render me, leave me slop in a pail,
one part of my body a hundred years old, one not even there anymore,
another still riven with idiot vigor, voracious as the youth I was
for whom everything always was going too slowly, too slowly.

To Joanna

© William Wordsworth

AMID the smoke of cities did you pass

The time of early youth; and there you learned,

Middle-Aged Midwesterner at Waikiki Again

© John Logan

The surfers beautiful as men

can be

Deola Thinking

Deola passes her mornings sitting in a cafe,

and nobody looks at her. Everyone’s rushing to work,

Blue Monday

Blue Monday. Monday at 3:00 and
Monday at 5. Monday at 7:30 and
Monday at 10:00. Monday passed under the rippling
California fountain. Monday alone
a shark in the cold blue waters.

A Apostacy Of One, And But One Lady

I.
That frantick errour I adore,
And am confirm'd the earth turns round;
Now satisfied o're and o're,

Come leave the loathéd stage,

And the more loathsome age,

To The Rev. William Cawthorne Unwin

Unwin, I should but ill repay
The kindness of a friend,
Whose worth deserves as warm a lay
As ever friendship penned,
Thy name omitted in a page
That would reclaim a vicious age.