Love poems
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Things
© Paul Eluard
What happened is, we grew lonely
living among the things,
so we gave the clock a face,
the chair a back,
the table four stout legs
which will never suffer fatigue.
Italy : 39. The Fountain
© Samuel Rogers
It was a well
Of whitest marble, white as from the quarry;
And richly wrought with many a high relief,
Greek sculpture -- in some earlier day perhaps
Thanatopsis
© William Cullen Bryant
To him who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
The Rover
© Virna Sheard
Though I follow a trail to north or south,
Though I travel east or west,
There's a little house on a quiet road
That my hidden heart loves best;
And when my journeys are over and done,
'Tis there I will go to rest.
Of Coarse Fools
© Sebastian Brant
Vile, scolding words do irritate,
Good manners thereby will abate
If sow-bell's rung from morn to late.
from In Lovely Blue
© Friedrich Hölderlin
Like the stamen inside a flower
The steeple stands in lovely blue
And the day unfolds around its needle;
To Hester On The Stair
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Hester, creature of my love,
What is this? You love not me?
On the stair you stand above,
Looking down distrustfully
Morituri Salutamus: Poem for the Fiftieth Anniversary of the Class of 1825 in Bowdoin College
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Tempora labuntur, tacitisque senescimus annis,
Et fugiunt freno non remorante dies.
Ovid, Fastorum, Lib. vi.
"O Cæsar, we who are about to die
Salute you!" was the gladiators' cry
In the arena, standing face to face
With death and with the Roman populace.
What I Have Seen #2
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
I saw a maid with her chivalrous lover:
He was both tender and true;
He kissed her lips, vowing over and over,
"Darling, I worship you."
Sing, sing, bird of the spring,
Tell of the flowers the summer will bring.
Allegro Maestoso
© William Ernest Henley
Spring winds that blow
As over leagues of myrtle-blooms and may;
Address To Thought
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
OH thou! the musing, wakeful pow'r,
That lov'st the silent, midnight hour,
Thy lonely vigils then to keep,
And banish far the angel, sleep,
How Grey The World Was
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
How grey the world was with its memories,
How dark even this gay room where the motes run!
How black these curtains, thick with murder cries,
These chairs, this floor with things slain in the sun!
Ehue! Fugaces, Posthume, Labuntur Anni
© Jones Very
Fleeting years are ever bearing
In their silent course away
All that in our pleasures sharing
Lent to life a cheering ray.
To a Young Poet
© Mahmoud Darwish
Don’t believe our outlines, forget them
and begin from your own words.
As if you are the first to write poetry
or the last poet.
Wishes
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
I wish we could live as the flowers live,
To breathe and to bloom in the summer and sun;
Dirty Jim
© Ann Taylor
THERE was one little Jim,
'Tis reported of him,
And must be to his lasting disgrace,
That he never was seen
With hands at all clean,
Nor yet ever clean was his face.
