Love poems
/ page 787 of 1285 /
The Angel In The House. Book II. Canto III.
© Coventry Kersey Dighton Patmore
III A Paradox
To tryst Love blindfold goes, for fear
He should not see, and eyeless night
He chooses still for breathing near
Beauty, that lives but in the sight.
Songs Set To Music: 4. Set By Mr. Smith
© Matthew Prior
Come, weep no more, for 'tis in vain;
Torment not thus your pretty heart;
Think, Flavia, we may meet again,
As well as that we now must part.
Mountains
© Henry Kendall
Rifted mountains, clad with forests, girded round by gleaming pines,
Where the morning, like an angel, robed in golden splendour shines;
The Artist
© Oscar Wilde
ONE evening there came into his soul the desire to fashion an image
of THE PLEASURE THAT ABIDETH FOR A MOMENT. And he went forth into
the world to look for bronze. For he could think only in bronze.
The Sorows Of Werther
© William Makepeace Thackeray
WERTHER had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
When I Go Alone At Night
© Rabindranath Tagore
WHEN I go alone at night to my love-tryst, birds do not sing, the wind does not stir, the houses on both sides of the street stand silent.
It is my own anklets that grow loud at every step and I am ashamed.
"I count the days until I see you, dear,"
© Lesbia Harford
I count the days until I see you, dear,
But the days only.
I dare not reckon up the nights and hours
I shall be lonely.
Discontent
© Confucius
We look for red, and foxes meet;
For black, and crows our vision greet.
The creatures, both of omen bad,
Well suit the state of Wei so sad.
Hymn of Apollo
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
I.
The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,
Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries,
From the broad moonlight of the sky,
The Sad Years
© Dora Sigerson Shorter
Is this, indeed, Thy man, that Thou hast made,
Is this Thy likeness, and are these Thy ways?
Oh, Lord of pity, quench these flaming hours,
Restore to peace these sad and tortured years
Wherein Thou breakest the frail heart of man
Or he the heart of God.
Sonnet XVIII. The Fireside.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
WITH what a live intelligence the flame
Glows and leaps up in spires of flickering red,
And turns the coal just now so dull and dead
To a companion not like those who came
Gul ko Mehboob
© Meer Taqi Meer
My heart, like a mirror,
Introduced me to a verity of people.
(I have a mirror like reflecting heart, everyone sees his own reflection in my heart)
Spring Song II
© Edith Nesbit
Small joy the greenness and grace of spring
To grey hard lives like our own can bring.
A drowning man cares little to think
Of the lights on the waves where he soon must sink.
The Dedication Poem
© Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Dedication Poem on the reception of the annex to
the home for aged colored people, from the bequest of
Mr. Edward T. Parker.
Summer's Last Will and Testament (excerpt)
© Thomas Nashe
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Reasonable Interest
© Ellis Parker Butler
I want to know how Bernard Shaw
Likes beefsteakfairly done, or raw?
I want to know what kinds of shoes
M. Maeterlinck and Howells use.
New Year Snow
© Edith Nesbit
THE white snow falls on hill and dale,
The snow falls white by square and street,
Falls on the town, a bridal veil,
And on the fields a winding-sheet.
Song
© John Jay Chapman
OLD Farmer Oats and his son Ned
They quarreled about the old mare's bed,
And some hard words by each were said,
Sing, sing, ye all!
St.Gregory's Guest
© John Greenleaf Whittier
A TALE for Roman guides to tell
To careless, sight-worn travellers still,
Who pause beside the narrow cell
Of Gregory on the Caelian Hill.
