Love poems

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Written In A Fit Of Illness. R. S. S.

© William Cowper

In these sad hours, a prey to ceaseless pain,

While feverish pulses leap in every vein,

Sonnet I

© Francis William Bourdillon

Oft had I felt, like pure Endymion,
Such love for the sweet moon, that I had well
Believed her able on earth to love and dwell
With whatso man she set her love upon;

Maha-Bharata, The Epic Of Ancient India - Book IX - Drona-Badha (Fall Of Drona)

© Romesh Chunder Dutt

On the fall of Bhishma the Brahman chief Drona, preceptor of the Kuru

and Pandav princes, was appointed the leader of the Kuru forces. For

Ogyges

© Henry Kendall

Stand out, swift-footed leaders of the horns,

And draw strong breath, and fill the hollowy cliff

The Seeking Of The Waterfall

© John Greenleaf Whittier

They left their home of summer ease
Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees,
To seek, by ways unknown to all,
The promise of the waterfall.

The Return Of Youth

© William Cullen Bryant

My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime,

For thy fair youthful years too swift of flight;

Elegy XVI: The Expostulation

© John Donne

TO make the doubt clear, that no woman's true,

Was it my fate to prove it strong in you?

The Bells

© Oliver Wendell Holmes

T is but a wave, whose spreading circle beats,
With the same impulse, every nerve it meets,
Yet who shall count the varied shapes that ride
On the round surge of that aerial tide!

The Legion Dispossessed

© John Newton

Legion was my name by nature,

Satan raged within my breast;

In Southern Seas

© Dora Sigerson Shorter

In southern seas we sailed, my love and I,

In southern seas.

The Starre

© George Herbert

Bright spark, shot from a brighter place,
Where beams surround my Saviour's face,
Canst thou be any where
So well as there?

The Bridge

I have come a long way to-day:
On a strange bridge alone,
Remembering friends, old friends,
I rest, without smile or moan,
As they remember me without smile or moan.

Moon-Drowned

'Twas the height of the fete when we quitted the riot,
And quietly stole to the terrace alone,
Where, pale as the lovers that ever swear by it,
The moon it

There are a thousand ways to cheat and a thousand ways to sin;
There are ways uncounted to lose the game, but there's only one way to win;
And whether you live by the sweat of your brow or in luxury's garb you're
dressed,
You shall stand at last, when your race is run, to be judged by the single
test.

The Cookie Jar

You can rig up a house with all manner of things,
The prayer rugs of sultans and princes and kings;
You can hang on its wall the old tapestries rare
Which some dead Egyptian once treasured with care;
But though costly and gorgeous its furnishings are,
It must have, to be homelike, an old cookie jar.