Love poems
/ page 85 of 1285 /
The Shepherd's Wife's Song
© Robert Greene
His flocks are folded; he comes home at night
As merry as a king in his delight,
And merrier, too:
For kings bethink them what the state require,
Where shepherds, careless, carol by the fire:
An Epitaph upon Husband and Wife Who died and were buried together
© Richard Crashaw
TO these whom death again did wed
This grave 's the second marriage-bed.
Wife To Husband
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
Pardon the faults in me,
For the love of years ago:
Good-bye.
I must drift across the sea,
I must sink into the snow,
I must die.
Sonnet 8: Love, Born In Greece
© Sir Philip Sidney
Love, born in Greece, of late fled from his native place,
Forc'd by a tedious proof, that Turkish harden'd heart
Is no fit mark to pierce with his fine pointed dart,
And pleas'd with our soft peace, stayed here his flying race.
The Abandoned
© Mathilde Blind
SHE sat by the wayside and wept, where roses, red roses and white,
Lay wasted and withered and sere, like her life and its ruined delight;
Like chaff blown about in the wind whirled roses, white roses and red,
And pale, on night's threshold, the moon bent over the day that was dead.
The Hand In The Dark
© Ada Cambridge
How calm the spangled city spread below!
How cool the night! How fair the starry skies!
How sweet the dewy breezes! But I know
What, under all their seeming beauty, lies.
Absence
© Ethelwyn Wetherald
Dear grey-winged angel, with the mouth set stern
And time-devouring eyes, the sweetest sweet
Ode to Rae Wilson Esq.
© Thomas Hood
Mere verbiage,it is not worth a carrot!
Why, Socratesor Platowhere's the odds?
Once taught a jay to supplicate the Gods,
And made a Polly-theist of a Parrot!
On A Movement Of Beethovens
© George MacDonald
Ave! Once more touch the strings
That Memory may feed upon the strain,
And over-live again
The days,
When the heart gloried in the golden lays
That give the spirit wings.
Scandalous Song
© Millosh Gjergj Nikolla
A pale-faced nun who with the sins of this world
Bears my sins, too, upon her weary shoulders,
Those shoulders, wan as wax, which some deity has kissed,
Roams the streets like a fleeting angel.
The Princess (part 6)
© Alfred Tennyson
My dream had never died or lived again.
As in some mystic middle state I lay;
Seeing I saw not, hearing not I heard:
Though, if I saw not, yet they told me all
So often that I speak as having seen.
Washington!
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
Feb. 22, 1732
BRIGHT natal morn! what face appears
Beyond the rolling mist of years?
A face whose loftiest traits, combine
Childish Recollections
© George Gordon Byron
'I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most dear to me.'
WHEN slow Disease, with all her host of pains,
Chills the warm, tide which flows along the veins
Young Bicham
© Andrew Lang
In London city was Bicham born,
He longd strange countries for to see,
But he was taen by a savage Moor,
Who handld him right cruely.
The Daemon Of The World
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
Nec tantum prodere vati,
Quantum scire licet. Venit aetas omnis in unam
Congeriem, miserumque premunt tot saecula pectus.
Burnt Out Is Now My Misery
© Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy
Burnt out is now my misery--
love's yearning
No more unspeakably torments my heart,
Yet bearable alone through thee, my being--
All thou art not is idle, stale and dying,
Colourless, withered, dead,--save where thou art!
Sonnet: What Lips My Lips Have Kissed
© Edna St. Vincent Millay
What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,
I have forgotten, and what arms have lain
The Devil Of Pope-Fig Island
© Jean de La Fontaine
ON t'other hand an island may be seen,
Where all are hated, cursed, and full of spleen.
We know them by the thinness of their face
Long sleep is quite excluded from their race.
The Angels' Song. Honour To Jesus.
© Thomas Hoccleve
Honured be thu, blisful lord Ihesu, and preysed mote thu be in eueri place,So full of myght, [of] mercy and vertue,Of blisse, of bounte, of piete and of grace!Who is honurë, may no thing deface; Who is [ther] that withstondë may thi myght?But servë the, of fors mote eueri wight.
Honúred be thu, Ihesu, heven kyng, That hast be-taken to my gouernaunce Suche one that hath, a-bove al othire thing,Abowed to the with lowely obeysaunce,And loued the with sadde perséueraunce, Thi counseil and thin hey comaundëmentObseruyng with his hertely hool entent.
