Love poems

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It's guessing time at our house; every evening after tea
We start guessing what old Santa's going to leave us on our tree.
Everyone of us holds secrets that the others-try to steal,
And that eyes and lips are plainly having trouble to conceal.
And a little lip that quivered just a bit the other night
Was a sad and startling warning that I mustn't guess it right.

"Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripped,"

© William Butler Yeats

III
Slim adolescence that a nymph has stripped,
Peleus on Thetis stares.
Her limbs are delicate as an eyelid,

The Lay of Poor Louise

© Sir Walter Scott

Ah, poor Louise! the livelong day
She roams from cot to castle gay;
And still her voice and viol say,
Ah, maids, beware the woodland way,
Think on Louise.

Eclogue 7: Meliboeus Corydon Thrysis

© Publius Vergilius Maro

CORYDON
"Libethrian Nymphs, who are my heart's delight,
Grant me, as doth my Codrus, so to sing-
Next to Apollo he- or if to this
We may not all attain, my tuneful pipe
Here on this sacred pine shall silent hang."

Since Shade Relents

© Paul Verlaine

Since shade relents, since 'tis indeed the day,
Since hope I long had deemed forever flown,
Wings back to me that call on her and pray,
Since so much joy consents to be my own,-

Dancing Adairs

© Conrad Aiken

Behold me, in my chiffon, gauze, and tinsel,
Flitting out of the shadow into the spotlight,
And into the shadow again, without a whisper!-
Firefly's my name, I am evanescent.

Sed Non Satiata (Unslakeable Lust)

© Charles Baudelaire

Bizarre déité, brune comme les nuits,
Au parfum mélangé de musc et de havane,
Oeuvre de quelque obi, le Faust de la savane,
Sorcière au flanc d'ébène, enfant des noirs minuits,

Little Girls Must Not Fret

© Ann Taylor

WHAT is it that makes little Emily cry?
Come then, let mamma wipe the tear from her eye:
Therelay down your head on my bosomthat's right,
And now tell mamma what's the matter to-night.

The Progress Of The Rose

© Denis Florence MacCarthy

The days of old, the good old days,
Whose misty memories haunt us still,
Demand alike our blame and praise,
And claim their shares of good and ill.

Some Boys are Born to Wander by Walter McDonald: American Life in Poetry #48 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet L

© Ted Kooser

Every parent can tell a score of tales about the difficulties of raising children, and then of the difficulties in letting go of them. Here the Texas poet, Walt McDonald, shares just such a story. Some Boys are Born to Wander

From Michigan our son writes, How many elk?
How many big horn sheep? It's spring,
and soon they'll be gone above timberline,

Summum Bonum

© Louise Imogen Guiney

Thanks to His love let earth and man dispense
In smoke of worship when the heart is stillest,
A praying more than prayer: "Great good have I,
Till it be greater good to lay it by;
Nor can I lose peace, power, permanence,
For these smile on me from the thing Thou willest!"

Unkindnesse

Lord, make me coy and tender to offend:
In friendship, first I think, if that agree,
Which I intend,
Unto my friends intent and end.
I would not use a friend, as I use Thee.