Love poems

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To A Blue Flower

© John Shaw Neilson

I would be dismal with all the fine pearls of the crown of a king;

But I can talk plainly to you, you little blue flower of the Spring!

Upon Appleton House, to My Lord Fairfax

© Andrew Marvell

Within this sober Frame expect
Work of no Forrain Architect;
That unto Caves the Quarries drew,
And Forrests did to Pastures hew;

Young Love

© Andrew Marvell

Come little Infant, Love me now,
While thine unsuspected years
Clear thine aged Fathers brow
From cold Jealousie and Fears.

On A Drop Of Dew

© Andrew Marvell

See how the Orient Dew,
Shed from the Bosom of the Morn
Into the blowing Roses,
Yet careless of its Mansion new;

The Child Of The Islands - Winter

© Caroline Norton

I.
ERE the Night cometh! On how many graves
Rests, at this hour, their first cold winter's snow!
Wild o'er the earth the sleety tempest raves;

Eyes And Tears

© Andrew Marvell

How wisely Nature did decree,
With the same Eyes to weep and see!
That, having view'd the object vain,
They might be ready to complain.

Sonnet 51: "Thus can my love excuse the slow offence..."

© William Shakespeare

Thus can my love excuse the slow offence,

Of my dull bearer, when from thee I speed,

Like the vain curlings of the watery maze,
Which in smooth streams a sinking weight does raise,
So Man, declining always, disappears
In the weak circles of increasing years;
And his short tumults of themselves compose,
While flowing Time above his head does close.

The Garden

© Andrew Marvell

How vainly men themselves amaze
To win the Palm, the Oke, or Bayes;
And their uncessant Labours see
Crown'd from some single Herb or Tree,

A Dialogue Between The Soul And Body

© Andrew Marvell

Soul
O Who shall, from this Dungeon, raise
A Soul inslav'd so many wayes?
With bolts of Bones, that fetter'd stands

To His Coy Mistress

© Andrew Marvell

Had we but World enough, and Time,
This coyness Lady were no crime.
We would sit down, and think which way
To walk, and pass our long Loves Day.

The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: VII

© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

ON HER VANITY
What are these things thou lovest? Vanity.
To see men turn their heads when thou dost pass;
To be the signboard and the looking--glass

The Definition Of Love

© Andrew Marvell

My love is of a birth as rare
As 'tis for object strange and high:
It was begotten by Despair
Upon Impossibility.

Written In A Blank Leaf Of Macpherson's Ossian

© William Wordsworth

OFT have I caught, upon a fitful breeze,

Fragments of far-off melodies,

The Killing Place

Were hiking along at a two-forty pace
We 're making life seem like a man-killing race,
With our nerves all on edge and our jaws firmly set
We go rushing along; with our brows lined with sweat
And our cheeks pale and drawn every minute we dash,
And the goal that we 're after is merely more cash.

Parang

The falling of a fixed star.
Yound men does bring love to disgrace
With remorseful, regretful words,
When flesh upon flesh was the tune
Since the first cloud raise up to disclose
The breast of the naked moon.

Egypt, Tobago

There is a shattered palm
on this fierce shore,
its plumes the rusting helm-
et of a dead warrior.

"Sometimes I watch you, mark your brooding eyes"

Sometimes I watch you, mark your brooding eyes,
Your grave brow over-weighted with deep thought,
Your mouth's straight line details of such a sort
That all aloofness in your aspect lies.

Coral

This coral's hape ecohes the hand
It hollowed. ItsImmediate absence is heavy. As pumice,
As your breast in my cupped palm.Sea-cold, its nipple rasps like sand,
Its pores, like yours, shone with salt sweat.Bodies in absence displace their weight,