Love poems
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I am only the house of your beloved
© Mewlana Jalaluddin Rumi
"I am only the house of your beloved,
not the beloved herself:
A Forsaken Lady To Her False Servant That Is Disdained By His New Mistriss
© Richard Lovelace
Thou most unjust, that really dust know,
And feelst thyselfe the flames I burne in. Oh!
How can you beg to be set loose from that
Consuming stake you binde another at?
To Poesy
© Charles Harpur
Ah, misery! what were then my lot
Amongst a race of unbelievers
Sordid men who all declare
That earthly gain alone is fair,
And they who pore on bardic lore
Deceived deceivers.
Young Philomela's Powrfull Dart
© Thomas Parnell
Young Philomela's powrfull dart
Two gentle shepheard's hitt
The Nightingale Has A Lyre Of Gold
© William Ernest Henley
The nightingale has a lyre of gold,
The lark's is a clarion-call,
And the blackbird plays but a boxwood flute,
But I love him best of all.
Veils
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Veils, everywhere float veils; veils long and black,
Framing white faces, oft-times young and fair,
But, like a rose touched by untimely frost,
Showing the blighting marks of sorrow's track.
Hudibras - The Lady's Answer to The Knight
© Samuel Butler
We are your guardians, that increase
Or waste your fortunes how we please;
And, as you humour us, can deal
In all your matters, ill or well.
The Young Princess -- A Ballad Of Old Laws Of Love
© George Meredith
When the South sang like a nightingale
Above a bower in May,
The training of Love's vine of flame
Was writ in laws, for lord and dame
To say their yea and nay.
Lines Written In August
© Thomas Babbington Macaulay
The day of tumult, strife, defeat, was o'er;
Worn out with toil, and noise, and scorn, and spleen,
I slumbered, and in slumber saw once more
A room in an old mansion, long unseen.
When Sorrow Comes
© Edgar Albert Guest
When sorrow comes, as come it must,
In God a man must place his trust.
There is no power in mortal speech
The anguish of his soul to reach,
No voice, however sweet and low,
Can comfort him or ease the blow.
To H. W. Longfellow
© Oliver Wendell Holmes
OUR Poet, who has taught the Western breeze
To waft his songs before him o'er the seas,
Will find them wheresoe'er his wanderings reach
Borne on the spreading tide of English speech
Twin with the rhythmic waves that kiss the farthest beach.
The Self Banished
© Edmund Waller
It is not that I love you less
Than when before your feet I lay,
But to prevent the sad increase
Of hopeless love, I keep away.
The Regret
© Arthur Symons
It seems to me, dearest, if you were dead.
And thought returned to me after the tears,
conteining an Historicall Discourse from the Infancie of the world, untill this present time
© Roger Cotton
Now may we all of England say of truth:
As we haue heard, so haue we seene performd
In these our dayes most worthy to be learnd:
How that the Lord doth stil his Church defend
From cruell foes, whom his to hurt pretend.
Evangeline: Part The First. II.
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
NOW had the season returned, when the nights grow colder and longer,
And the retreating sun the sign of the Scorpion enters.
Joy in Heaven
© Henry Clay Work
Sister spirit, listen!
Methinks I hear a song,
Resounding strangely, sadly,
These peaceful plains along.
Written For My Son, Upon Lady Santry's Coming To School, To See Her Son, And Getting The Scholars A
© Mary Barber
So Ceres, lovely and divine,
Eager to see her Proserpine,
Blessing the Nations as she pass'd,
Reach'd the fell Tyrant's Court at last;
