Love poems
/ page 974 of 1285 /The Beach Comber
© Harry Kemp
I'd like to return to the world again,
To the dutiful, work-a-day world of men, -
Thomas Heywood: X
© Algernon Charles Swinburne
TOM, if they loved thee best who called thee Tom.
What else may all men call thee, seeing thus bright
Lines on the Opening of a Spring Campaign
© Amelia Opie
Spring! thy impatient bloom restrain!
Nor wake so soon thy genial power;
For deeds of death must hail thy reign,
And clouds of fate around thee lower:….
Self-Condemnation
© George Herbert
Thou who condemnest Jewish hate,
For choosing Barabbas a murderer
Before the Lord of glorie;
Look back upon thine own estate,
Call home thine eye (that busie wanderer)
That choice may be thy storie.
To The Sighing Strephon
© George Gordon Byron
Your pardon, my friend, if my rhymes did offend;
Your pardon, a thousand times o'er:
From friendship I strove your pangs to remove,
But, I swear, I will do so no more.
The Parish Register - Part II: Marriages
© George Crabbe
made.
Yet now, would Phoebe her consent afford,
Her slave alone, again he'd mount the board;
With her should years of growing love be spent,
And growing wealth;--she sigh'd and look'd consent.
Now, through the lane, up hill, and 'cross the
For A Fatherless Son
© Sylvia Plath
You will be aware of an absence, presently,
Growing beside you, like a tree,
When I Peruse The Conquer'd Fame
© Walt Whitman
WHEN I peruse the conquer'd fame of heroes, and the victories of
mighty generals, I do not envy the generals,
The Winds
© William Lisle Bowles
When dark November bade the leaves adieu,
And the gale sung amid the sea-boy's shrouds,
If I Had Loved You More
© Aline Murray Kilmer
IF I had loved you more God would have had pity;
He would never have left me here in this desolate place,
Left me to go on my knees to the door of Heaven
Crying in vain for a little sight of your face.
Prometheus Unbound
© Percy Bysshe Shelley
First Voice.
But never bowed our snowy crest
As at the voice of thine unrest.
Renouncement
© Alice Meynell
I must not think of thee; and, tired yet strong,
I shun the love that lurks in all delight-