Love poems

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Dirge

© Adelaide Crapsey

Never the nightingale,

Oh, my dear,

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Love From The North

© Christina Georgina Rossetti

I had a love in soft south land,
 Beloved through April far in May;
He waited on my lightest breath,
 And never dared to say me nay.

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Will Yer Write It Down for Me?

© Henry Lawson

And the backblocks’ bard goes through it, ever seeking as he goes
For the line of least resistance to the hearts of men he knows;
And he tracks their hearts in mateship, and he tracks them out alone—
Seeking for the power to sway them, till he finds it in his own,
Feels what they feel, loves what they love, learns to hate what they condemn,
Takes his pen in tears and triumph, and he writes it down for them.

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The Knotting Song

© Sir Charles Sedley

"Hears not my Phyllis how the birds
Their feathered mates salute?
They tell their passion in their words:
Must I alone be mute?"
Phyllis, without frown or smile,
Sat and knotted all the while.

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Heath from the Highlands

© Henry Kendall

Here, where the great hills fall away
To bays of silver sea,
I hold within my hand to-day
A wild thing, strange to me.

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Queen Mab: Part III.

© Percy Bysshe Shelley

'Fairy!' the Spirit said,

  And on the Queen of Spells

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The Lost Thrill

© James Whitcomb Riley

I grow so weary, someway, of all things

That love and loving have vouchsafed to me,

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Jack Roy

© Herman Melville

Kept up by relays of generations young

Never dies at halyards the blithe chorus sung;

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The Greatest Gift

© Blanche Edith Baughan

IF of us two might only one be glad,  
 Pain I’d pursue, and struggle to be sad.  
If of us two one only might be great,  
Safely obscure I’d triumph in my fate.  
O Soul more dear than mine! if of us two  
One only might love God, it should be you.

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Ode to Fancy

© Joseph Warton

O parent of each lovely Muse,

Thy spirit o'er my soul diffuse,

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In The Solitude

© John Hall Wheelock

You do not love me, and at last I know
How far lies the lost land for which I pine-
But in the lonely passion of my mood
I feel your pulses toward my pulses flow,
And the dear blood that, through your hand, to mine,
Whispers her pity in the solitude.

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The Stream Is Flowing From The West

© Henry Timrod

The stream is flowing from the west;
As if it poured from yonder skies,
It wears upon its rippling breast
The sunset's golden dyes;
And bearing onward to the sea,
'T will clasp the isle that holdeth thee.

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The Maniac

© Wilcox Ella Wheeler

I saw them sitting in the shade;

The long green vines hung over,

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The Widow Of Glencoe

© William Edmondstoune Aytoun

Do not lift him from the bracken,

 Leave him lying where he fell-

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The Two Painters: A Tale

© Washington Allston

 At which, with fix'd and fishy
The Strangers both express'd amaze.
Good Sir, said they, 'tis strange you dare
Such meanness of yourself declare.

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To... (Kern)

© Alexander Pushkin

I still recall the wondrous moment
When you appeared before my eyes,
Just like a fleeting apparition,
Just like pure beauty's distillation.

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Mirror

© Sylvia Plath



I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions.

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"Behold! I am not one that goes to Lectures…"

© Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch

  Behold! I am not one that goes to Lectures or the pow-wow of
  Professors.
  The elementary laws never apologise: neither do I apologise.
  I find letters from the Dean dropt on my table—and every one is

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The four Seasons of the Year.

© Anne Bradstreet

Spring.

Another four I've left yet to bring on,

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He Prayeth Best Who Loveth Best

© Louisa May Alcott

"He prayeth best who loveth best
  All things, both great and small;
  For the dear God who loveth us,
  He made and loveth all."