Love poems
/ page 862 of 1285 /
A Sketch
© Fitz-Greene Halleck
HER Leghorn hat was of the bright gold tint
The setting sunbeams give to autumn clouds;
The ribband that encircled it as blue
As spots of sky upon a moonless night,
Laudamus
© Adam Lindsay Gordon
The Lord shall slay or the Lord shall save!
He is righteous whether He save or slay -
Tell me not of morrows, sweet
© Augusta Davies Webster
TELL me not of morrows, sweet;
All to-day is fair, and ours,
Thine and mine;
Mar not Now with needing more.
I Am Vertical
© Sylvia Plath
But I would rather be horizontal.
I am not a tree with my root in the soil
To Lucasta
© Richard Lovelace
I.
I laugh and sing, but cannot tell
Whether the folly on't sounds well;
But then I groan,
Supple Cord by Naomi Shihab Nye: American Life in Poetry #107 Ted Kooser, U.S. Poet Laureate 2004-20
© Ted Kooser
Naomi Shihab Nye is one of my favorite poets. She lives in San Antonio, Texas, and travels widely, an ambassador for poetry. Here she captures a lovely moment from her childhood.
Why Do I Love?
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
Why do I love?
Is it for men to choose
The hour of the hushed night when crowned with dews
From its sea grave the morning star shall wake?
Alfred. Book V.
© Henry James Pye
As o'er the tented field the squadrons spread,
Stretch'd on the turf the hardy soldier's bed;
While the strong mound, and warder's careful eyes,
Protect the midnight camp from quick surprise,
A voice, in hollow murmurs from the plain,
Attracts the notice of the wakeful train.
Book Fourteenth [conclusion]
© William Wordsworth
In one of those excursions (may they ne'er
Fade from remembrance!) through the Northern tracts
A Parental Ode to My Son, Aged 3 Years and 5 months
© Thomas Hood
Thou happy, happy elf!
(But stop,first let me kiss away that tear)
Thou tiny image of myself!
(My love, he's poking peas into his ear!)
Don't Be Cruel to the Motherless Darlings
© Henry Clay Work
I must let go each little hand;
I must leave all behind.
Oh! don't be cruel to the motherless darlings;
Don't be unkind!
The Old House
© Madison Julius Cawein
Quaint and forgotten, by an unused road,
An old house stands: around its doors the dense
Blue iron-weeds grow high;
The chipmunks make a highway of its fence;
And on its sunken flagstones slug and toad
Silent as lichens lie.
An Essay on Death and a Prison
© Henry King
A prison is in all things like a grave,
Where we no better priviledges have
Then dead men, nor so good. The soul once fled
Lives freer now, then when she was cloystered
The Grave Of The Countess Potocki
© Adam Mickiewicz
In spring's own country, where the gardens blow,
You faded, tender rose! For hours now past,
Inscribed To The Pathetic Memory Of The Poet Henry Timrod
© Madison Julius Cawein
_Long are the days, and three times long the nights.
The weary hours are a heavy chain
The Tasmanian Aborigine's Lament
© Anonymous
Fair island of my birth, thy distant rocks
Call forth the tenderest feelings of my heart;
Although the sight of thee my yearning mocks,
For cruel waves thee from my children part.
Ah! White man, why---Oh! Why thy childhood's home
Did'st thou abandon, to drive us from ours?
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XXVI
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THE SAME--A CHRISTMAS SONNET
Since thou hast given me these, Juliet, given me these,
There have been tidings told of a great joy,
Of peace on Earth, good--will without annoy.
Tatiana's Letter
© Alexander Pushkin
Allotted unto you was I
E'en from the moment of my birth
And loyal to my future fate;
And God, I know, sent you to be
My champion and my advocate
Till the grave closes over me. . . .
The Habitants Jubilee Ode
© William Henry Drummond
Of course w'en we t'ink it de firs' go off, I know very strange it seem
For fader of us dey was offen die for flag of L'Ancien Regime,
From day w'en de voyageurs come out all de way from ole St. Malo,
Flyin' dat flag from de mas' above, an' long affer dat also.
