Love poems
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Elegy XIX
© John Donne
Whoever loves, if he do not propose
The right true end of love, he's one that goes
Putting in the Seed
© Robert Frost
You come to fetch me from my work to-night
When supper's on the table, and we'll see
If I can leave off burying the white
Soft petals fallen from the apple tree
Two Tramps In Mud Time
© Robert Frost
And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man's work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right--agreed.
Love Compared To A Game Of Tables
© William Strode
Love is a game at tables where the dye
Of mayds affections doth by fancie fly:
Birches
© Robert Frost
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay.
Thoughts on Predestination and Reprobation : Part IV.
© John Byrom
To bless is his immutable decree,
Such as could never have begun to be:
Mending Wall
© Robert Frost
Something there is that doesn't love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it
And spills the upper boulder in the sun,
And make gaps even two can pass abreast.
The Lost Tails Of Miletus
© Francis Bret Harte
High on the Thracian hills, half hid in the billows of clover,
Thyme, and the asphodel blooms, and lulled by Pactolian streamlet,
She of Miletus lay, and beside her an aged satyr
Scratched his ear with his hoof, and playfully mumbled his chestnuts.
The Iconoclastic Rustic And The Apropos Acorn
© Guy Wetmore Carryl
THE MORAL: In the early spring
A pumpkin-tree would be a thing
Most gratifying to us all,
But how about the early fall?
Laughter And Death
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
THERE is no laughter in the natural world
Of beast or fish or bird, though no sad doubt
Song
© Alfred Noyes
I came to the door of the House of Love
And knocked as the starry night went by;
And my true love cried "Who knocks?" and I said
"It is I."
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
© Robert Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
Health
© Edward Thomas
Four miles at a leap, over the dark hollow land,
To the frosted steep of the down and its junipers black,
Travels my eye with equal ease and delight:
And scarce could my body leap four yards.
Monody On The Death Of Chatterton
© Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Thee, Chatterton! yon unblest stones protect
From want, and the bleak freezings of neglect!
Escaped the sore wounds of affliction's rod,
Meek at the throne of mercy, and of God,
Perchance, thou raisest high th' enraptured hymn
Amid the blaze of seraphin!
The Holidays
© Ann Taylor
"AH! don't you remember, 'tis almost December,
And soon will the holidays come;
Oh, 'twill be so funny, I've plenty of money,
I'll buy me a sword and a drum. "
Poetry
© Don Paterson
In the same way that the mindless diamond keeps
one spark of the planet's early fires
trapped forever in its net of ice,
it's not love's later heat that poetry holds,
The Dead Child And The Mocking-Bird
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
ONCE in a land of balm and flowers,
Of rich fruit-laden trees,
Where the wild wreaths from jasmine bowers
Trail o'er Floridian seas;
Martyrs Memorial
© Louise Imogen Guiney
SUCH natural debts of love our Oxford knows,
So many ancient dues undesecrate,
