Love poems
/ page 795 of 1285 /The Song Of The Children
© Gilbert Keith Chesterton
The World is ours till sunset,
Holly and fire and snow;
And the name of our dead brother
Who loved us long ago.
When The Old Man Smokes
© Paul Laurence Dunbar
In the forenoon's restful quiet,
When the boys are off at school,
The Restoration Of The Works Of Art In Italy
© Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Vain dream! degraded Rome! thy noon is o'er,
Once lost, thy spirit shall revive no more.
It sleeps with those, the sons of other days,
Who fix'd on thee the world's adoring gaze;
Those, blest to live, while yet thy star was high,
More blest, ere darkness quench'd its beam, to die!
The North Sea -- First Cycle
© Heinrich Heine
Once through heaven went shining,
Wedded and one,
Luna the Goddess, and Sol the God,
And the stars in multitudes thronged around them,
Their little, innocent children.
"A Little While I Fain Would Linger Yet."
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
A LITTLE while (my life is almost set!)
I fain would pause along the downward way,
Musing an hour in this sad sunset-ray,
While, Sweet! our eyes with tender tears are wet;
A little hour I fain would linger yet.
Girl-Gladness
© Zora Bernice May Cross
Its holiday time on the hollyhock hills,
And I wish you would come with me laddie-love, now,
Sir Thomas Lawrence
© Letitia Elizabeth Landon
DIVINEST art, the stars above
Were fated on thy birth to shine;
Oh, born of beauty and of love,
What early poetry was thine!
The Joy Of The Cross
© William Cowper
Long plunged in sorrow, I resign
My soul to that dear hand of thine,
Without reserve or fear;
That hand shall wipe my streaming eyes;
Or into smiles of glad surprise
Transform the falling tear.
The Leper
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
NOTHING is better, I well think,
Than love; the hidden well-water
Is not so delicate to drink:
This was well seen of me and her.
A Parody
© William Shenstone
When first, Philander, first I came
Where Avon rolls his winding stream,
Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: XXVII
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
At such a time indeed of youth's first morn,
There is a heaving of the soul in pain,
A mighty labour as of joys unborn,
Which grieves it and disquiets it in vain.
The Initiation
© Edward Dowden
UNDER the flaming wings of cherubim
I moved toward that high altar. O, the hour!
The Brus Book XII
© John Barbour
[The king prepares his division]
Now Douglas furth his wayis tais,
And in that selff tyme fell throw cais
Tuesday In Easter Week
© John Keble
Thou first-born of the year's delight,
Pride of the dewy glade,
In vernal green and virgin white,
Thy vestal robes, arrayed:
Much and More
© George MacDonald
When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver,
And eternal bliss looks nearer,
Ask thy heart, nor show it favour,
Is the gift or giver dearer?