Love poems
/ page 909 of 1285 /
To Charlotte.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
'MIDST the noise of merriment and glee,'Midst full many a sorrow, many a care,
Charlotte, I remember, we remember thee,How, at evening's hour so fair,
Thou a kindly hand didst reach us,When thou, in some happy placeWhere more fair is Nature s face,Many a lightly-hidden trace
Of a spirit loved didst teach us.Well 'tis that thy worth I rightly knew,--That I, in the hour when first we met,While the first impression fill'd me yet,
To William Theodore Peters On His Renaissance Cloak
© Ernest Christopher Dowson
The cherry-coloured velvet of your cloak
Time hath not soiled: its fair embroideries
Dedication.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
By new-born flow'rs that full of dew-drops hung;
The youthful day awoke with ecstacy,
And all things quicken'd were, to quicken me.
The Bliss Of Sorrow.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Tears that eternal love sheddeth!
How dreary, how dead doth the world still appear,
When only half-dried on the eye is the tear!
Hymn to the God of War
© John Le Gay Brereton
From every quarter we,
Who bent the trembling knee
And cowered or grovelled prostrate day and night,
Now come once more to sing
A dirge before thee, King,
Once more with earnest heart to do thee right.
In Summer.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
How plain and height
With dewdrops are bright!
How pearls have crown'd
The plants all around!
Hero And Leander. The Third Sestiad
© George Chapman
New light gives new directions, fortunes new,
To fashion our endeavours that ensue.
Autumn Feelings.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Up the trellis'd vine on high!
May ye swell, twin-berries tender,
Juicier far,--and with more splendour
Starting From Paumanok
© Walt Whitman
Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers, experienced-stars, rain, snow,
my amaze;
Having studied the mocking-bird's tones, and the mountainhawk's,
And heard at dusk the unrival'd one, the hermit thrush from the
swamp-cedars,
Solitary, singing in the West, I strike up for a New World.
After Sixty Years
© Edith Nesbit
RING, bells! flags, fly! and let the great crowd roar
Its ecstasy. Let the hid heart in prayer
To The Moon.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
BUSH and vale thou fill'st againWith thy misty ray,
And my spirit's heavy chainCastest far away.Thou dost o'er my fields extendThy sweet soothing eye,
Watching like a gentle friend,O'er my destiny.Vanish'd days of bliss and woeHaunt me with their tone,
Joy and grief in turns I know,As I stray alone.Stream beloved, flow on! flow on!Ne'er can I be gay!
To Lina.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
SHOULD these songs, love, as they fleet,Chance again to reach thy hand,
At the piano take thy seat,Where thy friend was wont to stand!Sweep with finger bold the string,Then the book one moment see:
But read not! do nought but sing!And each page thine own will be!Ah, what grief the song impartsWith its letters, black on white,
That, when breath'd by thee, our heartsNow can break and now delight!1800.*
Sonnet LI. The Human Flower. 1.
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
IN the old void of unrecorded time,
In long, slow æons of the voiceless past,
A seed from out the weltering fire-mist cast
Took root a struggling plant that from its prime
On The Lake,
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[Written on the occasion of Goethe's starting
with his friend Passavant on a Swiss Tour.]I DRINK fresh nourishment, new bloodFrom out this world more free;
The Nature is so kind and goodThat to her breast clasps me!
The billows toss our bark on high,And with our oars keep time,
The Whistling Girl
© Dorothy Parker
Back of my back, they talk of me,
Gabble and honk and hiss;
Let them batten, and let them be-
Me, I can sing them this:
The Muses' Son.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[Goethe quotes the beginning of this song in
his Autobiography, as expressing the manner in which his poetical
effusions used to pour out from him.]
Trilogy of Passion: III. ATONEMENT.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Eternal beauty has its fruit to bear;
The eye grows moist, in yearnings blest reveres
The godlike worth of music as of tears.
To The Grasshopper.
© Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
[The strong resemblance of this fine poem to
Cowley's Ode bearing the same name, and beginning "Happy insect!
what can be," will be at once seen.]
