Love poems
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Calef In Boston, 1692
© John Greenleaf Whittier
IN the solemn days of old,
Two men met in Boston town,
One a tradesman frank and bold,
One a preacher of renown.
Sir Eustace Grey
© George Crabbe
And shall I then the fact deny?
I was--thou know'st--I was begone,
Like him who fill'd the eastern throne,
To whom the Watcher cried aloud;
That royal wretch of Babylon,
Who was so guilty and so proud.
The Voyage Of St. Brendan A.D. 545 - The Buried City
© Denis Florence MacCarthy
Beside that giant stream that foams and swells
Betwixt Hy-Conaill and Moyarta's shore,
And guards the isle where good Senanus dwells,
A gentle maiden dwelt in days of yore.
Picture By Giov. Bellini, In The Church Of The Redentore At Venice
© Richard Monckton Milnes
THE VIRGIN.
Who am I, to be so far exalted
Over all the maidens of Judaea,
That here only in this lonely bosom
The Black Rock
© John Gould Fletcher
Off the long headland, threshed about by round-backed breakers,
There is a black rock, standing high at the full tide;
Off the headland there is emptiness,
And the moaning of the ocean,
And the black rock standing alone.
The Battle of the Summer Islands : Canto 1
© Edmund Waller
Aid me, Bellona, while the dreadful fight
Betwixt a nation and two whales I write.
Seas stained with gore I sing, adventurous toil,
And how these monsters did disarm an isle.
Epitaph
© William Carlos Williams
An old willow with hollow branches
slowly swayed his few high gright tendrils
and sang:
And the Greatest of These Is War
© James Weldon Johnson
And Satan smiled, stretched out his hand, and said,
"O War, of all the scourges of humanity, I crown you chief."
And Hell rang with the acclamation of the Fiends.
Twenty-One
© John Le Gay Brereton
The world, all busy round us here of late,
Is still unchanged: but you are twenty-one.
The Weather-Beaten Tree
© William Barnes
The woaken tree, a-beät at night
By stormy winds wi' all their spite,
Karen
© Celia Thaxter
At her low quaint wheel she sits to spin,
Deftly drawing the long, light rolls
Of carded wool through her finders thin,
By the fireside at the Isles of Shoals.
The Last Rose Of Summer
© Charles Wolfe
That strain again? It seems to tell
Of something like a joy departed;
I love its mourning accents well,
Like voice of one, ah! broken-hearted.
Love-Free
© Sara Teasdale
I am free of love as a bird flying south in the autumn,
Swift and intent, asking no joy from another,
Glad to forget all of the passion of April
Ere it was love-free.
Song Of The Broad-Axe
© Walt Whitman
Strong shapes, and attributes of strong shapes-masculine trades,
sights and sounds;
Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music;
Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys of the great
organ.
OShea
© Alice Guerin Crist
OShea was a big railway ganger, clean-hearted, and clean-limbed and shy,
With a glint of grey hair at his temples, and smile in his Irish blue eye;
Hed but one speech for every occasion, as you told him the news of the day,
And I know I will shock pious people-but poor Tim meant no harm when hes say.
Aw! glong, go-to-hell, go-to-hell now! In a mildly expostulant way.
Ballade Of Barren Roses
© Gertrude Bartlett
O Mystic Rose, the heart of Jesu, fair
Creative source from which all beauty flows,
Ever transfusing Love, hear now my prayer:
Resume for Love's own sake one barren rose.
A Song Of Savoy
© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
As the dim twilight shrouds
The mountain's purple crest,
And Summer's white and folded clouds
Are glowing in the west,
Loud shouts come up the rocky dell,
And voices hail the evening-bell.
I had no time to hate, because
© Emily Dickinson
I had no time to hate, because
The grave would hinder me,
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.
