Love poems
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The Wanderer
© John Masefield
ALL day they loitered by the resting ships,
Telling their beauties over, taking stock;
At night the verdict left my messmate's lips,
"The Wanderer is the finest ship in dock."
The Everlasting Mercy
© John Masefield
Thy place is biggyd above the sterrys cleer,
Noon erthely paleys wrouhte in so statly wyse,
Com on my freend, my brothir moost enteer,
For the I offryd my blood in sacrifise.
John Lydgate.
Death In Life
© Madison Julius Cawein
Within my veins it beats
And burns within my brain;
For when the year is sad and sear
I dream the dream again.
The Young Laird and Edinburgh Katy
© Allan Ramsay
Now wat ye wha I met yestreen
Coming down the street, my Jo,
Sibylline
© Madison Julius Cawein
THERE is a glory in the apple boughs
Of silver moonlight; like a torch of myrrh,
Second Sunday After Trinity
© John Keble
The clouds that wrap the setting sun
When Autumn's softest gleams are ending,
A Footnote to a Famous Lyric
© Louise Imogen Guiney
TRUE loves own talisman, which here
Shakespeare and Sidney failed to teach,
A steel-and-velvet Cavalier
Gave to our Saxon speech:
A Rose Has Thorns As Well As Honey
© Christina Georgina Rossetti
A rose has thorns as well as honey,
I'll not have her for love or money;
Opifex
© Edward Thomas
As I was carving images from clouds,
And tinting them with soft ethereal dyes
Pressed from the pulp of dreams, one comes, and cries:--
"Forbear!" and all my heaven with gloom enshrouds.
Reply To Some Verses Of J.M.B. Pigot, Esq. On The Cruelty Of His Mistress
© George Gordon Byron
Why, Pigot, complain of this damsel's disdain,
Why thus in despair do you fret?
For months you may try, yet, believe me, a sigh
Will never obtain a coquette.
Penumbra
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
I DID not look upon her eyes,
(Though scarcely seen, with no surprise,
Land, Ho!
© Edward Thomas
I know tis but a loom of land,
Yet is it land, and so I will rejoice,
I know I cannot hear His voice
Upon the shore, nor see Him stand;
Yet is it land, ho! land.
The Nevermore
© Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Mark me, how still I am! But should there dart
One moment through my soul the soft surprise
Of that winged Peace which lulls the breath of sighs,--
Then shalt thou see me smile, and turn apart
Thy visage to mine ambush at thy heart
Sleepless with cold commemorative eyes.
My Garden
© Edward Thomas
A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot!
Rose plot,
Fringed pool,
Ferned grot--
Sonnet 61: "Is it thy will, thy image should keep open..."
© William Shakespeare
Is it thy will, thy image should keep open
My heavy eyelids to the weary night?
Verses To Clarinda
© Robert Burns
Fair Empress of the poet's soul,
And Queen of poetesses;
Clarinda, take this little boon,
This humble pair of glasses:
Sonnets To Europa
© Vlanes (Vladislav Nekliaev)
Frost apple on a knotted whirling bough
of dark becoming where it cannot be.
So much both for the soil and for the tree,
so much for things that are becoming now.
Captain Who Voyages No More
© Vlanes (Vladislav Nekliaev)
Troubled slumbering of things, the curtain blown aside
by the gush of the salty wind, the advent of the tide
mixing grains of dry sand, the disjoined palimpsest,
the thin wing beating under the chest, restlessly,
the splinters of far-off vessels stuck in the sea,
not entering the harbour, as if they have something to hide.
