Love poems
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For A Sad Lady
© Dorothy Parker
And let her loves, when she is dead,
Write this above her bones:
"No more she lives to give us bread
Who asked her only stones."
Serenade
© Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
DARK is the iris meadow,
Dark is the ivory tower,
And lightly the young moth's shadow
Sleeps on the passion-flower.
Sonnet 142: "Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,..."
© William Shakespeare
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate,
Hate of my sin, grounded on sinful loving:
Recollections Of Cornwall
© Robert Laurence Binyon
To R. G. R. and H. P. P.
Let not the mind, that would have peace,
Too much repose on former joy,
Nor in pourtraying past delight
Her needed, active power employ!
Nemesis
© Henry Lawson
It is night-time when the saddest and the darkest memories haunt,
When outside the printing office the most glaring posters flaunt,
When the love-wrong is accomplished. And I think of things and mark
That the blackest lies are written, told, and printed after dark.
Tis the time of late editions. It is night when, as of old,
Foulest things are done for hatred, for ambition, love and gold.
"And Pushkin's Exile Had..."
© Anna Akhmatova
And Pushkin's exile had begun right here,
And Lermontov's expulsion had been "canceled."
There is the easy grasses' scent on highland.
And only once it chanced to me to see it --
Life
© Peter McArthur
DEAR God, I thank Thee for this resting place,
This fleshly temple where my soul may dwell,
Sonnet XIX: Restore Thy Tresses
© Samuel Daniel
Restore thy tresses to the golden ore,
Yield Citherea's son those arcs of love,
Grey Hours: Naples
© Arthur Symons
There are some hours when I seem so indifferent; all things fade
To an indifferent greyness, like that grey of the sky;
Satire V
© John Donne
Thou shalt not laugh in this leafe, Muse, nor they
Whom any pity warmes; He which did lay
O Moon
© Mathilde Blind
O moon, large golden summer moon,
Hanging between the linden trees,
Which in the intermittent breeze
Beat with the rhythmic pulse of June!
The Four Wishes
© Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon
Father! a youthful hero said, bending his lofty brow
On the world wide I must go forththen bless me, bless me, now!
And, ere I shall return oh say, what goal must I have won
What is the aim, the prize, that most thou wishest for thy son?
On The Last Epiphany (Or Christ Coming To Judgment)
© Thomas Chatterton
Behold! just coming from above,
The judge, with majesty and love!
Shakuntala Act VII (Final Act)
© Kalidasa
ACT VII
King Dushyant with Matali in the chariot of Indra (king of gods in heaven and also god of thunder), supposed to be above the clouds.
King Dushyant: I am sensible, O Matali, that, for having executed the commission which Indra gave me, I deserved not such a profusion of honours.
Eight Years Old
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
SUN, whom the faltering snow-cloud fears,
Rise, let the time of year be May,
A Pastoral
© George Essex Evans
Nature feels the touch of noon;
Not a rustle stirs the grass;
Not a shadow flecks the sky,
Save the brown hawk hovering nigh;
Not a ripple dims the glass
Of the wide lagoon.
The Song
© Jones Very
When I would sing of crooked streams and fields,
On, on from me they stretch too far and wide,
New Water by Sharon Chmielarz: American Life in Poetry #99 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-2006
© Ted Kooser
My maternal grandparents got their drinking water from a well in the yard, and my disabled uncle carried it sloshing to the house, one bucket of hard red water early every morning. I couldn't resist sharing this lovely little poem by Minnesota poet, Sharon Chmielarz.
"I have three loves who are all most dear"
© Lesbia Harford
I have three loves who are all most dear.
Each one has cost me many a tear.
The one who is dead yet lives in me.
I were too poor had I less than three.
