Love poems
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The Bright Medusa
© Sir Henry Newbolt
She's the daughter of the breeze,
She's the darling of the seas,
And we call her, if you please, the bright _Medu--sa_;
From beneath her bosom bare
To the snakes among her hair
She's a flash o' golden light, the bright _Medu--sa_.
If My Hands Could Defoliate translated from Si Mis Manos Pudieran Deshojar
© Federico Garcia Lorca
I pronounce your name,
in this dark night,
and your name sounds
more distant than ever.
More distant that all stars
and more doleful than a calm rain.
I: Why I Write Not To Love
© Benjamin Jonson
Some act of Love's bound to reherse,
I thought to bind him, in my verse:
Her Beautiful Hands
© James Whitcomb Riley
Your hands--they are strangely fair!
O Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,--
Inscriptions In The Ground Of Coleorton, The Seat Of Sir George Beaumont, Bart., Leicestershire
© William Wordsworth
THE embowering rose, the acacia, and the pine,
Will not unwillingly their place resign;
If but the Cedar thrive that near them stands,
Planted by Beaumont's and by 's hands.
Lines Occasioned By A Visit To Whittlebury Forest, Northamptonshire, In August, 1800
© Robert Bloomfield
Genius of the Forest Shades!
Lend thy pow'r, and lend thine ear!
The Old Age Of Queen Maeve
© William Butler Yeats
A certain poet in outlandish clothes
Gathered a crowd in some Byzantine lane,
Requiescit
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
His name is cut upon a stone. His dreams
Were written on Time's hem; and Time has fled
And taken him and them. The grass is green
Upon his grave. I cannot doubt he sleeps.
The Future.
© Caroline Norton
I WAS a laughing child, and gaily dwelt
Where murmuring brooks, and dark blue rivers roll'd,
The Rose And Thorn
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
SHE'S loveliest of the festal throng
In delicate form and Grecian face;
A beautiful, incarnate song;
A marvel of harmonious grace;
The Triumph Of Melancholy
© James Beattie
Memory, be still! why throng upon the thought
These scenes deep-stain'd with Sorrow's sable dye?
Hast thou in store no joy-illumined draught,
To cheer bewilder'd Fancy's tearful eye?
Among the Flags
© Louise Imogen Guiney
And as fair symbols of heroic things,
Not void of tears mine eyes must e'en behold
These banners lovelier as the deeper marred:
A panegyric never writ for kings
On every tarnished staff and tattered fold;
And by them, tranquil spirits standing guard.
Margaret Of Cortona
© Edith Wharton
I rave, you say? You start from me, Fra Paolo?
Go, then; your going leaves me not alone.
I marvel, rather, that I feared the question,
Since, now I name it, it draws near to me
With such dear reassurance in its eyes,
And takes your place beside me. . .
Luna
© Victor Marie Hugo
O France, although you sleep
We call you, we the forbidden!
The shadows have ears,
And the depths have cries.
Manhattan Streets I Saunter'd, Pondering
© Walt Whitman
Manhatten's streets I saunter'd, pondering,
On time, space, reality-on such as these, and abreast with them,
prudence.
In The JuneTwilight
© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
IN the June twilight, in the soft gray twilight,
The yellow sun-glow trembling through the rainy eve,
As my love lay quiet, came the solemn fiat,
"All these things forever--forever--thou must leave."
On Returning To England
© Alfred Austin
There! once again I stand on home,
Though round me still there swirls the foam,
