100 classic love poems

8/10/2019 100 Classic Love Poems

http://slidepdf.com/reader/full/100-classic-love-poems 1/67

i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Hi, I would like to present youwith a collection of over 100Classic Love Poems.

I hope that you enjoy them asmuch as I did.

tina…….

PLEASE FEEL FREE TO DISTRIBUTE THIS EBOOKAND BRING AS MUCH PLEASURE INTO EVERYONES LIVE’S

visit www.simply-e.co.uk for eBay bestseller eBook

http://www.simply-e.co.uk/






i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

I Love Thee

by Eliza Acton, 1799-1859.

I love thee, as I love the calmOf sweet, star-lighted hours!

I love thee, as I love the balmOf early jes'mine flow'rs.

I love thee, as I love the lastRich smile of fading day,

Which lingereth, like the look we cast,On rapture pass'd away.

I love thee as I love the toneOf some soft-breathing flute

Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,When all beside is mute.

I love thee as I love the firstYoung violet of the spring;

Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd,To scented blossoming.

I love thee, as I love the full,Clear gushings of the song,Which lonely, sad, and beautiful

At night-fall floats along,Pour'd by the bul-bul forth to greet

The hours of rest and dew;When melody and moonlight meet

To blend their charm, and hue.

I love thee, as the glad bird lovesThe freedom of its wing,

On which delightedly it movesIn wildest wandering.

I love thee as I love the swell,And hush, of some low strain,

Which bringeth, by its gentle spell,The past to life again.

Such is the feeling which from thee

Nought earthly can allure:'Tis ever link'd to all I seeOf gifted--high--and pure!



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Longingby Matthew Arnold (1822 1888)

Come to me in my dreams, and thenBy day I shall be well again.

For then the night will more than payThe hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,A messenger from radiant climes,

And smile on thy new world, and beAs kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,Come now, and let me dream it truth.And part my hair, and kiss my brow,And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and thenBy day I shall be well again.

For then the night will more than payThe hopeless longing of the day.

Habitationby Margaret Atwood

Marriage is nota house or even a tent

it is before that, and colder:the edge of the forest, the edge

of the desertthe unpainted stairs

at the back where we squatoutside, eating popcorn

the edge of the receding glacierwhere painfully and with wonder

at having survived even

this farwe are learning to make fire



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Lullabyby W. H. Auden

Lay Your Sleeping head, my love,Human on my faithless arm:Time and fevers burn away

Individual beauty fromThoughtful children, and the grave

Proves the child ephemeral:But in my arms till break of day

Let the living creature lie,Mortal, guilty, but to me

The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:

To lovers as they lie uponHer tolerant enchanted slopeIn their ordinary swoon,

Grave the vision Venus sendsOf supernatural sympathy,Universal love and hope;

While an abstract insight wakesAmong the glaciers and the rocks

The hermit's carnal ecstasy,

Certainty, fidelityOn the stroke of midnight pass

Like vibrations of a bellAnd fashionable madmen raise

Their pedantic boring cry:Every farthing of the cost.

All the dreaded cards foretell.Shall be paid, but from this night

Not a whisper, not a thought.Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:Let the winds of dawn that blow

Softly round your dreaming headSuch a day of welcome show

Eye and knocking heart may bless,Find our mortal world enough;Noons of dryness find you fed

By the involuntary powers,Nights of insult let you passWatched by every human love.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love's Trinityby Alfred Austin

Soul, heart, and body, we thus singly name,Are not in love divisible and distinct,

But each with each inseparably link'd.One is not honour, and the other shame,

But burn as closely fused as fuel, heat, and flame.

They do not love who give the body and keepThe heart ungiven; nor they who yield the soul,And guard the body. Love doth give the whole;Its range being high as heaven, as ocean deep,

Wide as the realms of air or planet's curving sweep

My Suburban Girlby Samuel Alfred Beadle

I know a sweet suburban girl,She's witty, bright and brief;

With dimples in her cheeks; and pearl

In rubies set, for teeth.

Beneath her glossy raven hairThere beams the hazel eye,

Bright as the star of evening thereWhere the yellow sunbeams die.

Her breath is like a flower blown,In fragrance and perfume;

Her voice seems from the blissful throneWhere their harps the angels tune.

Her waist is just a trifle moreThan a cubit in its girth;

But when there my arms I throw,I've all there is of earth.

And when she turns her dimpled cheekToward me for a kiss,

I lose expression—cannot speakAnd take all there is of bliss.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love Arm'dby Aphra Behn

Love in Fantastique Triumph sat,Whilst bleeding Hearts around him flow'd,

For whom Fresh pains he did create,

And strange Tryanic power he show'd;From thy Bright Eyes he took his fire,Which round about, in sport he hurl'd;

But 'twas from mine he took desire,Enough to undo the Amorous World.From me he took his sighs and tears,

From thee his Pride and Crueltie;From me his Languishments and Feares,

And every Killing Dart from thee;Thus thou and I, the God have arm'd,

And sett him up a Deity;But my poor Heart alone is harm'd,Whilst thine the Victor is, and free.

The Clod and the Pebbleby William Blake (1757-1827)

Love seeketh not Itself to please,Nor for itself hath any care;

But for another gives its ease,And builds a Heaven in Hells despair.

So sang a little Clod of Clay,

Trodden with the cattle's feet;But a Pebble of the brook,Warbled out these metres meet.

Love seeketh only Self to please,

To bind another to Its delight:Joys in another’s loss of ease,

And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

To My Dear and Loving Husbandby Anne Bradstreet

If ever two were one, then surely we.If ever man were lov'd by wife, then thee;

If ever wife was happy in a man,Compare with me ye women if you can.

I prize thy love more then whole Mines of gold,Or all the riches that the East doth hold.

My love is such that Rivers cannot quench,Nor ought but love from thee, give recompense.

Thy love is such I can no way repay,The heavens reward thee manifold I pray.

Then while we live, in love let's so persever,That when we live no more, we may live ever.

Because She Would Ask Me Why I Loved Herby Christopher Brennan (1870-1932)

If questioning would make us wiseNo eyes would ever gaze in eyes;If all our tale were told in speech

No mouths would wander each to each.

Were spirits free from mortal meshAnd love not bound in hearts of flesh

No aching breasts would yearn to meetAnd find their ecstasy complete.

For who is there that lives and knowsThe secret powers by which he grows?

Were knowledge all, what were our needTo thrill and faint and sweetly bleed?

Then seek not, sweet, the "If" and "Why"I love you now until I die.

For I must love because I liveAnd life in me is what you give.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Sonnets from the Portuguese XIV

If thou must love me, let it be for noughtExcept for love's sake only. Do not say

'I love her for her smile--her look--her wayOf speaking gently,--for a trick of thought

That falls in well with mine, and certes broughtA sense of pleasant ease on such a day'--

For these things in themselves, Beloved, mayBe changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,

May be unwrought so. Neither love me forThine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,--

A creature might forget to weep, who boreThy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby !

But love me for love's sake, that evermore

Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

-- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How Do I LoveThee

How do I love thee? Let me count the waysI love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight.For the ends of Being and ideal GraceI love thee to the level of everyday's

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.I love thee freely, as men strive for right

I love thee purely, as they turn from praiseI love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, --I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life! -- and, if God choose,

I shall but love thee better after death.

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIII

And wilt thou have me fashion into speechThe love I bear thee, finding words enough,

And hold the torch out, while the winds are rough,Between our faces, to cast light upon each?

I drop it at thy feet. I cannot teachMy hand to hold my spirit so far off

From myself.. me.. that I should bring thee proof,In words of love hid in me... out of reach.

Nay, let the silence of my womanhoodCommend my woman-love to thy belief,

Seeing that I stand unwon (however wooed)

And rend the garment of my life in briefBy a most dauntless, voiceless fortitude,Lest one touch of this heart convey its grief.

- Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Life in a Loveby Robert Browning

Escape me? Never, Beloved!While I am I, and you are you,

So long as the world contains us both,Me the loving and you the loth,

While the one eludes, must the other pursue.My life is a fault at last, I fear—

It seems too much like a fate, indeed!Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed—

But what if I fail of my purpose here?

It is but to keep the nerves at strain,To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall,And baffled, get up to begin again,—

So the chase takes up one's life, that's all.While, look but once from your farthest bound,

At me so deep in the dust and dark,No sooner the old hope drops to ground

Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark,I shape me—

EverRemoved!



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

When We Two Partedby Lord Byron (1788 - 1824)

When we two partedIn silence and tears,Half broken-heartedTo sever the years,

Pale grew thy cheek and cold,Colder, thy kiss;

Truly that hour foretoldSorrow to this.

The dew of the morningSunk, chill on my brow,It felt like the warning

Of what I feel now.Thy vows are all broken,

And light is thy fame;I hear thy name spoken,And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,A knell to mine ear;

A shudder comes o'er me...Why wert thou so dear?

They know not I knew thee,Who knew thee too well..

Long, long shall I rue thee,Too deeply to tell.

In secret we metIn silence I grieve

That thy heart could forget,Thy spirit deceive.

If I should meet theeAfter long years,

How should I greet thee?With silence and tears.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

A Red, Red Rose

O my luve's like a red, red rose.That's newly sprung in June;

O my luve's like a melodieThat's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,So deep in luve am I;

And I will love thee still, my Dear,Till a'the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my Dear,And the rocks melt wi' the sun:I will luve thee still, my Dear,

While the sands o'life shall run.And fare thee weel my only Luve!

And fare thee weel a while!And I will come again, my Luve,Tho' it were ten thousand mile!

- Robert Burns

First Loveby John Clare

I ne'er was struck before that hourWith love so sudden and so sweet.

Her face it bloomed like a sweet flowerAnd stole my heart away complete.

My face turned pale, a deadly pale.My legs refused to walk away,

And when she looked what could I ailMy life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my faceAnd took my eyesight quite away.

The trees and bushes round the placeSeemed midnight at noonday.

I could not see a single thing,Words from my eyes did start.

They spoke as chords do from the string,And blood burnt round my heart.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Are flowers the winter's choice

Is love's bed always snowShe seemed to hear my silent voice

Not love appeals to know.

I never saw so sweet a faceAs that I stood before.My heart has left its dwelling place

And can return no more.

Song of Secret Loveby John Clare (1793-1864)

I hid my love when young while ICouldn't bear the buzzing of a fly

I hid my love to my despiteTill I could not bear to look at light

I dare not gaze upon her faceBut left her memory in each placeWhere ere I saw a wild flower lie

I kissed and bade my love goodbye

I met her in the greenest dellsWhere dew drops pearl the wood bluebellsThe lost breeze kissed her bright blue eye

The bee kissed and went singing byA sunbeam found a passage thereA gold chain round her neck so fair

As secret as the wild bee's song

She lay there all the summer long

I hid my love in field and townTill e'en the breeze would knock me down

The bees seemed singing ballads l'erThe fly's buss turned a Lion's roarAnd even silence found a tongueTo haunt me all the summer longThe riddle nature could not proveWas nothing else but secret love



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Loveby Samuel Taylor Coleridge

And in Life's noisiest hour,There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,

The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within ;

And to the leading Love-throb in the HeartThro' all my Being, thro' my pulse's beat ;

You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve

On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,

How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love you.

Damelus' Song to Diapheniaby Henry Constable (1562-1613).

Diaphenia, like the daffadowndilly,

White as the sun, fair as the lily,Heigh ho, how I do love thee!

I do love thee as my lambsAre belovëd of their dams—

How blest were I if thou wouldst prove me!

Diaphenia, like the spreading roses,That in thy sweets all sweets incloses,

Fair sweet, how I do love thee!I do love thee as each flower

Loves the sun's life-giving power,For, dead, thy breath to life might move me.

Diaphenia, like to all things blessed,When all thy praises are expressëd,

Dear joy, how I do love thee!As the birds do love the spring,Or the bees their careful king,—

Then in requite, sweet virgin, love me!



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

To a Young Ladyby William Cowper

Sweet stream that winds through yonder glade,Apt emblem of a virtuous maid

Silent and chaste she steals along,Far from the world's gay busy throng:

With gentle yet prevailing force,Intent upon her destined course;Graceful and useful all she does,

Blessing and blest where'er she goes;Pure-bosom'd as that watery glass,And Heaven reflected in her face.

I carry your heart with meby e. e. cummings

i carry your heart with me (i carry it inmy heart) i am never without it (anywhere

i go you go, my dear; and whatever is doneby only me is your doing, my darling)

i fearno fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) i want

no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which growshigher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart (i carry it in my heart)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

I Many Times Thought

I many times thought peace had comeWhen peace was far away,

As wrecked men deem they sight the landWhen far at sea they stay.

And struggle slacker, but to prove,As hopelessly as I,

That many the fictitious shoresBefore the harbor lie.

- Emily Dickinson

Wild Nights--Wild Nights!

Wild nights--wild nights!Were I with thee

Wild nights should beour luxury!

Futile the windsTo heart in port--

Done with the compass,Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden--As the sea!

Might I moor, tonight,In thee!

- Emily Dickinson



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

What If I Say

What if I say I shall not wait?What if I burst the fleshly gate

And pass, escaped, to thee?

What if I file this mortal off,See where it hurt me, - that’s enough, -

And wade in liberty?

They cannot take me any more, -Dungeons may call, and guns implore;

Unmeaning, now, to me

As laughter was an hour ago,Or laces, or a traveling show,

Or who died yesterday!

- Emily Dickinson

I Never Lost As Much

I never lost as much but twice,And that was in the sod.

Twice have I stood a beggarBefore the door of God!

Angels, twice descending,Reimbursed my store.

Burglar, banker, father,I am poor once more!

- Emily Dickinson



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

I Sing

I sing to use the waitingMy bonnet but to tie,

And close the door unto my houseNo more to do have I

‘Till his best step approaching,We journey to the day,

And tell each other how we sungTo keep the dark away.

- Emily Dickinson

We Play at Paste

We play at paste...Till qualified, for pearlThen, drop the paste

And deem ourself a fool

The shapes- though- were similar,And our new handsLearned Gem-tactics

Practicing Sands.

by Emily Dickinson



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

It's All I Have to Bring To-day

It's all I have to bring to-day,This, and my heart beside,

This, and my heart, and all the fields,And all the meadows wide.

Be sure you count, should I forget, --Someone the sum could tell, --

This, and my heart, and all the beesWhich in the clover dwell.

by Emily Dickinson (1830 - 1886)

I Held a Jewel

I held a jewel in my fingersAnd went to sleep

The day was warm, and winds were prosyI said, "Twill keep"

I woke - and chide my honest fingers,The Gem was gone

And now, an Amethyst remembranceIs all I own




i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Heart, We Will Forget Him

Heart, we will forget him,You and I, tonight!

You must forget the warmth he gave,I will forget the light.

When you have done pray tell me,Then I, my thoughts, will dim.

Haste! ‘lest while you’re laggingI may remember him!


A Wounded Deer Leaps Highest

A wounded deer leaps highest,I've heard the hunter tell;

'Tis but the ecstasy of death,And then the brake is still.

The smitten rock that gushes,The trampled steel that springs:

A cheek is always redderJust where the hectic stings!

Mirth is mail of anguish,In which its cautious arm

Lest anybody spy the bloodAnd, "you're hurt" exclaim




i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

A Valediction Forbidden Mourningby John Donne (1572-1631)

As virtuous men pass mildly away,And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say,"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."

So let us melt, and make no noise,No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;

'Twere profanation of our joysTo tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears;Men reckon what it did, and meant;

But trepidation of the spheres,Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit

Of absence, 'cause it doth removeThe thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,That ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assurèd of the mind,Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.

Our two souls therefore, which are one,Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two soAs stiff twin compasses are two;

Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no showTo move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,Yet, when the other far doth roam,

It leans, and hearkens after it,And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,Like th' other foot, obliquely run;Thy firmness makes my circle just,And makes me end where I begun.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

The Flea

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,How little that which thou deny'st me is;It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,

And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;Thou know'st that this cannot be said

A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;Yet this enjoys before it woo,

And pampered swells with one blood made of two,And this, alas, is more than we would do.

Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,Where we almost, yea, more than married are.This flea is you and I, and this

Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,

And cloistered in these living walls of jet.Though use make you apt to kill me,

Let not to that, self-murder added be,And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou sincePurpled thy nail in blood of innocence?

Wherein could this flea guilty be,Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?

Yet thou triumph'st and say'st that thouFind'st not thyself, nor me the weaker now;

'Tis true, then learn how false fears be:Just so much honor, when thou yield'st to me,

Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

by John Donne (1571-1631)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Farewell to Love

Since there's not help, come let us kiss and part;Nay, I am done, you get no more of me;

And I am glad, yea, glad with all my heart,That thus so cleanly I myself can free;

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,And when we meet at any time again,Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we, one jot of former love retain.Now, at the last gasp of love's latest breath,

When his pulse failing, passion speechless lies,When faith is kneeling by his bed of death,

And innocence is closing up his eyes,Now, if thou woulds't, when all have given him over,From death to life Thou might'st him yet recover.

by Michael Drayton (1563 - 1631)

Felix Holt, the Radical

Why, there are maidens of heroic touchAnd yet they seem like things of gossamerYou'd pinch the life out of, as out of moths.O, it is not fond tones and mouthingness,

'Tis not the arms akimbo and large strides,That makes a woman's force. The tiniest birds,

With softest downy breasts, have passion in them,And are brave with love.

- George Eliot (1819-80)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

A Valentine to My Wife

Accept, dear girl, this little token,And if between the lines you seek,

You'll find the love I've often spokenThe love my dying lips shall speak.

Our little ones are making merryO'er am'rous ditties rhymed in jest,

But in these words (though awkward very)The genuine article's expressed.

You are as fair and sweet and tender,Dear brown-eyed little sweetheart mine,

As when, a callow youth and slender,I asked to be your Valentine.

What though these years of ours be fleeting?

What though the years of youth be flown?I'll mock old Tempus with repeating,"I love my love and her alone!"

And when I fall before his reaping,And when my stuttering speech is dumb,

Think not my love is dead or sleeping,But that it waits for you to come.

So take, dear love, this little token,And if there speaks in any line

The sentiment I'd fain have spoken,Say, will you kiss your Valentine?

by Eugene Field (1850-1895)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

There is a Lady Sweet and Kind

There is a lady sweet and kind,Was never a face so pleased my mind;

I did but see her passing by,And yet I'll love her till I die.

Her gesture, motion, and her smiles,Her wit, her voice my heart beguiles,Beguiles my heart, I know not why,

And yet I'll love her till I die.

Cupid is winged and he doth range,Her country, so, my love doth change:

But change she earth, or change she sky,

Yet, I will love her till I die.

- Thomas Ford

Beautiful Dreamer

Beautiful dreamer, wake unto me,Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,

Lull'd by the moonlight have all pass'd a way!

Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,List while I woo thee with soft melody;

Gone are the cares of life's busy throng, --Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

Beautiful dreamer, out on the seaMermaids are chaunting the wild lorelie;

Over the streamlet vapors are borne,Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.

Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,E'en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;

Then will all clouds of sorrow depart, --Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!

- by Stephen Foster



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

To Earthward

Love at the lips was touchAs sweet as I could bear;

And once that seemed too much;I lived on air

That crossed me from sweet things,The flow of - was it musk

From hidden grapevine springsDown hill at dusk?

I had the swirl and acheFrom sprays of honeysuckle

That when they're gathered shakeDew on the knuckle.

I craved strong sweets, but thoseSeemed strong when I was young;

The petal of the roseIt was that stung.

Now no joy but lacks saltThat is not dashed with pain

And weariness and fault;I crave the stain

Of tears, the aftermarkOf almost too much love,The sweet of bitter bark

And burning clove.

When stiff and sore and scarred

I take away my handFrom leaning on it hardIn grass and sand,

The hurt is not enough:I long for weight and strength

To feel the earth as roughTo all my length.

- Robert Frost



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Reluctance

Out through the fields and the woodsAnd over the walls I have wended;

I have climbed the hills of viewAnd looked at the world, and descended;

I have come by the highway home,And lo, it is ended.

The leaves are all dead on the ground,Save those that the oak is keepingTo ravel them one by one

And let them go scraping and creepingOut over the crusted snow,When others are sleeping.

And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,No longer blown hither and thither;

The last lone aster is gone;The flowers of the witch hazel wither;

The heart is still aching to seek,But the feet question "Whither?"

Ah, when to the heart of man

Was it ever less than a treasonTo go with the drift of things,To yield with a grace to reason,

And bow and accept the endOf a love or a season?

- Robert Frost



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Wind and Window Flower

Lovers, forget your love,And list to the love of these,

She a window flower,And he a winter breeze.

When the frosty window veilWas melted down at noon,And the caged yellow bird

Hung over her in tune,

He marked her through the pane,He could not help but mark,And only passed her byTo come again at dark.

He was a winter wind,Concerned with ice and snow,

Dead weeds and unmated birds,And little of love could know.

But he sighed upon the sill,He gave the sash a shake,

As witness all withinWho lay that night awake.

Perchance he half prevailed

To win her for the flightFrom the firelit looking-glassAnd warm stove-window light.

But the flower leaned asideAnd thought of naught to say,And morning found the breeze

A hundred miles away.

- Robert Frost



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love And A Question

A stranger came to the door at eve,And he spoke the bridegroom fair.

He bore a green-white stick in his hand,And, for all burden, care.

He asked with the eyes more than the lipsFor a shelter for the night,

And he turned and looked at the road afarWithout a window light.

The bridegroom came forth into the porchWith, "Let us look at the sky,

And question what of the night to be,Stranger, you and I."The woodbine leaves littered the yard,

The woodbine berries were blue,Autumn, yes, winter was in the wind;

"Stranger, I wish I knew."

Within, the bride in the dusk aloneBent over the open fire,

Her face rose-red with the glowing coalAnd the thought of the heart's desire.

The bridegroom looked at the weary road,Yet saw but her within,

And wished her heart in a case of goldAnd pinned with a silver pin.

The bridegroom thought it little to give

A dole of bread, a purse,A heartfelt prayer for the poor of God,Or for the rich a curse;

But whether or not a man was askedTo mar the love of two

by harboring woe in the bridal house,The bridegroom wished he knew.

by Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

My Country Love

If you passed her in your cityYou would call her badly dressed,But the faded homespun coversSuch a heart in such a breast!True, her rosy face is freckledBy the sun's abundant flame,

But she's mine with all her failings,And I love her just the same.

If her hands are red they grappleTo my hands with splendid strength,For she's mine, all mine's the beauty

Of her straight and lovely length!True, her hose be think and homely

And her speech is homely, too;But she's mine! her rarest charm is

She's for me, and not for you!

by Norman Rowland Gale

Night Thoughts

Stars, you are unfortunate, I pity you,Beautiful as you are, shining in your glory,

Who guide seafaring men through stress and perilAnd have no recompense from gods or mortals,Love you do not, nor do you know what love is.

Hours that are aeons urgently conductingYour figures in a dance through the vast heaven,

What journey have you ended in this moment,Since lingering in the arms of my beloved

I lost all memory of you and midnight.

by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

My Love's A Match

My Love's a match in beautyFor every flower that blows,

Her little ear's a lilly,Her velvet cheek a rose;

Her locks are gilly gowansHang golden to her knee.If I were King of Ireland,

My Queen she'd surely be.

Her eyes are fond forget-me-nots,And no such snow is seen

Upon the heaving hawthorn bushAs crests her bodice green.The thrushes when she's talking

Sit listening on the tree.If I were King of Ireland,

My Queen she'd surely be.

by Alfred P. Graves

Confession

Touched by all that love isI draw closer toward you

Saddened by all that love isI run from you

Surprised by all that love isI remain alert in stillness

Hurt by all that love isI yearn for tenderness

Defeated by all that love isat the truthful mouth of the night

Forsaken by all that love isI will grow toward you.

by Frantisek Halas (1901 - 1949)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Upon Julia's Clothes

Whenas in silks my Julia goes,Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows

The liquefaction of her clothes.

Next, when I cast mine eyes, and seeThat brave vibration, each way free,

Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

- Robert Herrick

Sweet Disorder

A sweet disorder in the dressKindles in clothes a wantonness:

A lawn about the shoulders thrownInto a fine distraction --

An erring lace, which here and thereEnthrals the crimson stomacher --

A cuff neglectful, and therebyRibbands to flow confusedly --

A winning wave, deserving note,In the tempestuous petticoat --A careless shoe-string, in whose tie

I see a wild civility --Do more bewitch me than when art

Is too precise in every part.

by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

To the Virgins, Make Much of Time

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,Old time is still a-flying,

And this same flower that smiles today,To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,The higher he's a-getting,

The sooner will his race be run,And nearer he's to setting.

That age is best which is the first,When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse and worstTimes still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,and while ye may, go marry;

For having lost just once your prime,You may for ever tarry.

by Robert Herrick (1591 - 1674 )



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

To Anthea

Bid me to live, and I will liveThy Protestant to be;

Or bid me love, and I will giveA loving heart to thee.

A heart as soft, a heart as kind,A heart as sound and free

As in the whole world thou canst find,

That heart I'll give to thee.

Bid that heart stay, and it will stayTo honor thy decrees:

Or bid it languish quite away,And't shall do so for thee.

Bid me to weep, and I will weepWhile I have eyes to see:

And, having none, yet I will keepA heart to weep for thee.

Bid me despair and I'll despairUnder that cypress-tree:

Or bid me die, and I will dareE'en death to die for thee.

Thou art my life, my love, my heart,The very eyes of me:

And hast command of every partTo live and die for thee.

by Robert Herrick



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Jenny Kissed Me

Jenny kissed me when we met,Jumping from the chair she sat in;

Time, you thief, who love to getSweets into your list, put that in:

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,Say that health and wealth have missed me,

Say I'm growing old, but add,Jenny kissed me.

- by Leigh Hunt

Still to be Neat

Still to be neat, still to be drest,As you were going to a feast;

Still to be powder'd, still perfum'd:Lady, it is to be presum'd,

Though art's hid causes are not found,

All is not sweet, all is not sound.

Give me a look, give me a face,That make simplicity a grace;

Robes loosely flowing, hair as free:Such sweet neglect more taketh me

Than all th'adulteries of art.They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

- Benjamin Jonson



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Song: To Celia

Drink to me, only with thine eyesAnd I will pledge with mine;

Or leave a kiss but in the cup,And I'll not look for wine.

The thirst that from the soul doth riseDoth ask a drink divine:

But might I of Jove's nectar supI would not change for thine.

I sent thee late a rosy wreath,Not so much honouring theeAs giving it a hope that there

It could not withered beBut thou thereon didst only breathAnd sent'st it back to me:

Since, when it grows and smells, I swear,Not of itself but thee.

- by Ben Jonson

When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be

When I have fears that I may cease to beBefore my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,

Before high-piled books, in charactery,Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;

When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,And think that I may never live to trace

Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,That I shall never look upon thee more,

Never have relish in the faery powerOf unreflecting love;--then on the shore

Of the wide world I stand alone, and thinkTill love and fame to nothingness do sink.

by John Keats (1795 - 1821)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

A Book of Verse

A book of verse, underneath the bough,A jug of wine, a loaf of bread - and thou

Beside me singing in the wilderness -Ah, wilderness were paradise now!

- Omar Khayyam

Who Ever Felt as I

Mother, I cannot mind my wheel;My fingers ache, my lips are dry:

Oh! if you felt the pain I feel!But oh, who ever felt as I?

No longer could I doubt him true;All other men may use deceit:

He always said my eyes were blue,And often swore my lips were sweet

- Walter Savage Landor

A Song Of Love

Hey, rose, just born

Twin to a thorn;Was't so with you, O Love and Scorn?

Sweet eyes that smiled,Now wet and wild:

O Eye and Tear- mother and child.

Well: Love and PainBe kinfolks twain;

Yet would, Oh would I could Love again.

by Sidney Lanier (1842 - 1881)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

On the Balcony

In front of the sombre mountains,a faint, lost ribbon of rainbow

And between us and it, the thunder;And down below in the green wheat,the labourers stand like dark stumps,

still in the green wheat.

You are near to me, and naked feetIn their sandals, and through the

scent of the balcony's naked timberI distinguish the scent of your hair:

so now the limberLightning falls from heaven.

Adown the pale-green glacier river floatsA dark boat through the gloom—and whither? The thunder roars

But still we have each other!The naked lightnings in the heavens dither

And disappear—

what have we but each other?The boat has gone.

by D.H. Lawrence



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

From Blossoms

From blossoms comesthis brown paper bag of peaches

we bought from the joyat the bend in the road where we turned toward

signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,from sweet fellowship in the bins,

comes nectar at the roadside, succulentpeaches we devour, dusty skin and all,

comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,to carry within us an orchard, to eat

not only the skin, but the shade,not only the sugar, but the days, to hold

the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite intothe round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live

as if death were nowherein the background; from joyto joy to joy, from wing to wing,

from blossom to blossom toimpossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.

Li-Young Lee



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Tell Me Not, Sweet,

Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkindFor, from the nunnery

Of thy chaste breast, and quiet mind,To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,The first foe in the field;

And with a stronger faith- embraceA sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this unconstancy is suchAs you too shall adore;

For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much,Loved I not honour more.

- Richard Lovelace

To Amarantha

Amarantha sweet and fair,

Ah, braid no more that shining hair!As my curious hand or eyeHovering round thee, let it fly!

Let it fly as unconfinedAs its calm ravisher the wind,

Who hath left his darling, th' East,To wanton o'er that spicy nest.

Every tress must be confest,But neatly tangled at the best;

Like a clew of golden threadMost excellently ravell d.

Do not then wind up that lightIn ribbands, and o'er cloud in night,

Like the Sun's early ray;But shake your head, and scatter day!

by Richard Lovelace (1618-1658)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Madonna of the Evening Flowers

All day long I have been workingNow I am tired.

I call: "Where are you?"But there is only the oak tree rustling in the wind.

The house is very quiet,The sun shines in on your books,

On your scissors and thimble just put down,But you are not there.Suddenly I am lonely:

Where are you?

I go about searching.

Then I see you,Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,

With a basket of roses on your arm.You are cool, like silver,

And you smile.

I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes,You tell me that the peonies need spraying,

That the columbines have overrun all bounds,That the pyrus japonica should be cut back and rounded.

You tell me these things.

But I look at you, heart of silver,White heart-flame of polished silver,

Burning beneath the blue steeples of the larkspur,And I long to kneel instantly at your feet,

While all about us peal the loud, sweet Te Deums of the Canterburybells.

by Amy Lowell. 1874-1925



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Man and Wife

Tamed by Miltown, we lie on Mother's bed;the rising sun in war paint dyes us red;

in broad daylight her gilded bed-posts shine,abandoned, almost Dionysian.

At last the trees are green on Marlborough Street,blossoms on our magnolia ignite

the morning with their murderous five days' white.All night I've held your hand,

as if you hada fourth time faced the kingdom of the mad—

its hackneyed speech, its homicidal eye—and dragged me home alive. . . Oh my Petite,

clearest of all God's creatures, still all air and nerve:you were in your twenties, and I,

once hand on glassand heart in mouth,

outdrank the Rahvs in the heatof Greenwich Village, fainting at your feet—too boiled and shy

and poker-faced to make a pass,while the shrill verve

of your invective scorched the traditional South.

Now twelve years later, you turn your back.Sleepless, you hold

your pillow to your hollows like a child;your old-fashioned tirade—loving, rapid, merciless—

breaks like the Atlantic Ocean on my head.

by Robert Lowell



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Camomile Tea

Outside the sky is light with stars;There's a hollow roaring from the sea.And, alas! for the little almond flowers,The wind is shaking the almond tree.

How little I thought, a year ago,In the horrible cottage upon the Lee

That he and I should be sitting soAnd sipping a cup of camomile tea.

Light as feathers the witches fly,The horn of the moon is plain to see;

By a firefly under a jonquil flower

A goblin toasts a bumble-bee.

We might be fifty, we might be five,So snug, so compact, so wise are we!

Under the kitchen-table legMy knee is pressing against his knee.

Our shutters are shut, the fire is low,The tap is dripping peacefully;

The saucepan shadows on the wallAre black and round and plain to see.

by Katherine Mansfield (1888-1923)



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me and be my love,And we will all the pleasures prove,That valleys, groves, hills and fields,Woods or steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks

By shallow rivers, to whose fallsMelodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,And a thousand fragrant posies,

A cap of flowers and a kirtleEmbroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,Which from our pretty lambs we pull;

Fair-lined slippers for the cold,With buckles of the purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,With coral clasps and amber studs;

And if these pleasures may thee move,Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and singFor thy delight each May morning;

If these delights thy mind may move,Then live with me and be my love.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Untitled

Love is not all: It is not meat nor drinkNor slumber nor a roof against the rain,Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink

and rise and sink and rise and sink again.Love cannot fill the thickened lung with breath

Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone;Yet many a man is making friends with death

even as I speak, for lack of love alone.It well may be that in a difficult hour,

pinned down by need and moaning for releaseor nagged by want past resolutions power,

I might be driven to sell you love for peace,Or trade the memory of this night for food.

It may well be. I do not think I would.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950)

Clenched Soul

We have lost even this twilight.No one saw us this evening hand in hand

while the blue night dropped on the world.

I have seen from my windowthe fiesta of sunset in the distant mountain tops.

Sometimes a piece of sunburned like a coin in my hand.

I remembered you with my soul clenchedin that sadness of mine that you know.

Where were you then?Who else was there?

Saying what?Why will the whole of love come on me suddenly

when I am sad and feel you are far away?

The book fell that always closed at twilightand my blue sweater rolled like a hurt dog at my feet.

Always, always you recede through the eveningstoward the twilight erasing statues.

Pablo Neruda



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Naked

Naked, you are simple as a hand,smooth, earthy, small...transparent, round.

You have moon lines and apple paths;Naked, you are slender as the wheat.

Naked, Cuban blue midnight is your color,Naked, I trace the stars and vines in your hair;

Naked, you are spacious and yellowAs a summer's wholeness in a golden church.

Naked, you are tiny as your fingernail;Subtle and curved in the rose-colored dawn

And you withdraw to the underground worldAs if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores:

your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,And becomes a naked hand again.

~by Pablo Neruda

Love Sonnet LXXIX

By night, Love, tie your heart to mine, and the twotogether in their sleep will defeat the darkness

like a double drum in the forest, poundingagainst the thick wall of wet leaves.

Night travel: black flame of sleepthat snips the threads of the earth's grapes,punctual as a headlong train that would haul

shadows and cold rocks, endlessly.

Because of this, Love, tie me to a purer motion,to the constancy that beats in your chest

with the wings of a swan underwater,

so that our sleep might answer all the sky'sstarry questions with a single key,

with a single door the shadows had closed.

by Pablo Neruda



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love Sonnet IX

There where the waves shatter on the restless rocksthe clear light bursts and enacts its rose,

and the sea-circle shrinks to a cluster of buds,to one drop of blue salt, falling.

O bright magnolia bursting in the foam,magnetic transient whose death blooms

and vanishes--being, nothingness--forever:broken salt, dazzling lurch of the sea.

You & I, Love, together we ratify the silence,while the sea destroys its perpetual statues,

collapses its towers of wild speed and whiteness:

because in the weavings of those invisible fabrics,galloping water, incessant sand,

we make the only permanent tenderness.

by Pablo Neruda

Love Sonnet XLV

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because--because--I don't know how to say it: a day is longand I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station

when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, becausethen the little drops of anguish will all run

together,the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift

into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;may your eyelids never flutter into the empty

distance.Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so farI'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,

Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

by Pablo Neruda



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love Sonnet VII (in Espanol below)

Come with me, I said, and no one knewwhere, or how my pain throbbed,

no carnations or barcaroles for me,only a wound that love had opened.

I said it again: Come with me, as if I were dying,and no one saw the moon that bled in my mouth

or the blood that rose into silence.O Love, now we can forget the star that has such thorns!

That is why, when I heard your voice repeatCome with me, it was as if you had let loosethe grief, the love, the fury of a cork-trapped wine

that geysers flooding from deep in its vault;in my mouth I felt the taste of fire again,of blood and carnations, of rock & scald.

"Vendras conmigo" dije--sin que nadie supieradonde y como latia mi estado doloroso,y para mi no habia clavel ni barcarola,

nada sino una herida por el amor abierta.

Repeti: ven conmigo, como si me muriera,y nadie vio en mi boca la luna que sangraba,nadie vio aquella sangre que subia al silencio.

Oh amor ahora olvidemos la estrella con espinas!

Por eso cuando oi que tu voz repetia"Vendras conmigo"--fue como si desatarasdolor, amor, la furia del vino encarcelado

que desde su bodega sumergida subieray otra vez en mi boca senti un sabor de llama,

de sangre y de claveles, de peidra y quemadura.

by Pablo Neruda



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love Sonnet XVII

I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topazor arrow of carnations that propagate fire:I love you as certain dark things are loved,secretly, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carrieshidden within itself the light of those flowers,and thanks to your love, darkly in my body

lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,I love you simply, without problems or pride:

I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you,so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.

by Pablo Neruda

Love Sonnet XI

I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair.Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets.

Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all dayI hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.

I hunger for your sleek laugh,your hands the color of a savage harvest,

hunger for the pale stones of your fingernails,I want to eat your skin like a whole almond.

I want to eat the sunbeam flaring in your lovely body,the sovereign nose of your arrogant face,

I want to eat the fleeting shade of your lashes,

And I pace around hungry, sniffing the twilight,hunting for you, for your hot heart,

like a puma in the barrens of Quitratue.

by Pablo Neruda



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

A Dream Within a Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!And, in parting from you now,

Thus much let me avow-

You are not wrong, who deemThat my days have been a dream;Yet, if Hope has flown away

In a night, or in a day,In a vision, or in none,

Is it, therefore, the less gone?All that we see or seem

Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roarOf a surf-tormented shore,And I hold within my hand

Grains of golden sand-How few! yet how they creep

Through my fingers to the deep,

While I weepwhile I weep!O God! can I not grasp

Them with a tighter clasp?O God! can I not save

One from the pitiless wave?Is all that we see or seem

But a dream within a dream?



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Annabelle Leeby Edgar Allan Poe

It was many and many a year ago,In a kingdom by the sea,

That a maiden there lived whom you may knowBy the name of Annabel Lee;

And this maiden she lived with no other thoughtThan to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,In this kingdom by the sea;

But we loved with a love that was more than love-I and my Annabel Lee;

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven

Coveted her and me.And this was the reason that, long ago,In this kingdom by the sea,

A wind blew out of a cloud, chillingMy beautiful Annabel Lee;

So that her highborn kinsman cameAnd bore her away from me,To shut her up in a sepulcherIn this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,Went envying her and meYes! that was the reason

(as all men know, In this kingdom by the sea)That the wind came out of the cloud by night,

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.

But our love it was stronger by far than the loveOf those who were older than we

Of many far wiser than weAnd neither the angels in heaven above,

Nor the demons down under the sea,Can ever dissever my soul from the soul

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side

Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,In the sepulcher there by the sea,In her tomb by the sounding sea.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Wondrous Momentby Alexander Pushkin

The wondrous moment of our meeting . . .I well remember you appear

Before me like a vision fleeting,A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In hopeless ennui surroundingThe worldly bustle, to my earFor long your tender voice kept sounding,

For long in dreams came features dear.

Time passed. Unruly storms confoundedOld dreams, and I from year to yearForgot how tender you had sounded,Your heavenly features once so dear.

My backwoods days dragged slow and quiet —Dull fence around, dark vault above —

Devoid of God and uninspired,Devoid of tears, of fire, of love.

Sleep from my soul began retreating,

And here you once again appearBefore me like a vision fleeting,A beauty's angel pure and clear.

In ecstasy the heart is beating,Old joys for it anew revive;

Inspired and God-filled, it is greetingThe fire, and tears, and love alive.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Sir Walter Raleigh

The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd

If all the world and love were young,And truth in every shepherd's tongue,

These pretty pleasures might me moveTo live with thee and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to foldWhen rivers rage and rocks grow cold,

And Philomel becometh dumb;The rest complains of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fieldsTo wayward winter reckoning yields;

A honey tongue, a heart of gall,Is fancy's spring, but sorrow's fall.

Thy gowns, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,Thy cap, thy kirtle, and thy posies

Soon break, soon wither, soon forgottenIn folly ripe, in season rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,Thy coral clasps and amber studs,

All these in me no means can moveTo come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last and love still breed,Had joys no date nor age no need,

Then these delights my mind might moveTo live with thee and be thy love.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

The Lost Thrillby James Whitcomb Riley

I grow so weary, someway, of all thingsThat love and loving have vouchsafed to me,Since now all dreamed-of sweets of ecstasyAm I possessed of: The caress that clings—

The lips that mix with mine with murmurings

No language may interpret, and the free,Unfettered brood of kisses, hungrilyFeasting in swarms on honeyed blossomings

Of passion's fullest flower—For yet I missThe essence that alone makes love divine—

The subtle flavoring no tang of thisWeak wine of melody may here define:—

A something found and lost in the first kissA lover ever poured through lips of mine.

Again and Againby Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)

Again and again, however we know the landscape of loveand the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,

and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the othersfall: again and again the two of us walk out together

under the ancient trees, lie down again and againamong the flowers, face to face with the sky.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Under the Harvest Moon

Under the harvest moon,When the soft silver

Drips shimmeringOver garden nights,

Death, the gray mocker,Comes and whispers to you

As a beautiful friendWho remembers.

Under the summer rosesWhen the flagrant crimson

Lurks in the duskOf the wild red leaves,Love, with little hands,

Comes and touches youWith a thousand memories,

And asks youBeautiful, unanswerable questions.

- Carl Sandburg

Maybe

Maybe he believes me, maybe not.Maybe I can marry him, maybe not.

Maybe the wind on the prairie,The wind on the sea, maybe,

Somebody, somewhere, maybe can tell.

I will lay my head on his shoulderAnd when he asks me I will say yes,

Maybe.

- Carl Sandburg



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Sonnet 44

If the dull substance of my flesh were thought,Injurious distance should not stop my way.For then, despite of space, I would be broughtFrom limits far remote where thou dost stay.No matter then although my foot did stand

Upon the farthest earth removed from thee.For nimble thought can jump both sea and landAs soon as think the place where he would be.

But, ah, thought kills me, that I am not thought,To leap large length of miles when thou art gone,

But that, so much of earth and water wrought,I must attend times leisure with my moan,

Receiving naught by elements so slowBut heavy tears, badges of either's woe.

-- William Shakespeare

O Mistress Mine

O Mistress mine, where are you roaming?O, stay and hear; your true love's coming,

That can sing both high and low:Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting,Every wise man's son doth know.

What is love? 'Tis not hereafter;Present mirth hath present laughter;

What's to come is still unsure:In delay there lies not plenty;

Then, come kiss me, sweet and twenty,Youth's a stuff will not endure.

- William Shakespeare



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Shall I Compare Thee

Shall I compare thee to a Summer's day?Thou are more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,And Summer's lease hath all too short a date:Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimm'd;And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd:But thy eternal Summer shall not fade

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st;Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st:

So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.

- by William Shakespeare

Sonnet CXVI

Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not love,Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove.Oh, no! it is an ever-fixed mark

That looks on tempests.. and is never shaken.It is the star to every wandering bark

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.Love is not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come.Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out.. even to the edge of doom.If this be error and upon me proved,I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

- William Shakespeare



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Music, When Soft Voices Die

Music, when soft voices die,Vibrates in the memory --

Odours, when sweet violets sicken,Live within the sense they quicken.

Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;

And so thy thoughts when thou are gone,Love itself shall slumber on.

- Percy Shelley

Love's Philosophy

The fountains mingle with the river,And the rivers with the ocean;

The winds of heaven mix forever,With a sweet emotion;

Nothing in the world is single;All things by a law divine

In one another's being mingle;--Why not I with thine?

See! the mountains kiss high heaven,And the waves clasp one another;No sister flower would be forgiven,

If it disdained it's brother;And the sunlight clasps the earth,

And the moonbeams kiss the sea;--What are all these kissings worth,

If thou kiss not me?

- Percy Bysshe Shelley



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

The Indian Serenade

I arise from dreams of theeIn the first sweet sleep or night,

When the winds are breathing low,And the stars are shining bright.

I arise from dreams of thee,And a spirit in my feet

Has led me-who knows how? -To thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faintOn the dark, the silent stream,-

The champak odors failLike sweet thoughts in a dream;

The nightingale's complaint,It dies upon her heart,

As I must die on thine,O, beloved as thou art!

O, lift me from the grass!I die, I faint, I fail!

Let thy love in kisses rainOn my lips and eyelids pale.

My cheek is cold and white, alas!My heart beats loud and fast:

Oh! press it close to thine again,Where it will break at last!

- Percy Bysshe Shelley



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

The Rose of Sharon

I am the rose of Sharon,and the lily of the valleys.As the lily among thorns,

so is my love among the daughters.As the apple tree among the trees of the wood,

so is my beloved among the sons.

I sat down under his shadow with great delight,and his fruit was sweet to my taste.

He brought me to the banqueting house,and his banner over me was love.

Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples:for I am sick of love.

His left hand is under my head,and his right hand doth embrace me.

I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem,by the roes, and by the hinds of the field...

that ye stir not up, nor awake my love...till he please.

- Solomon

My Love Is Like to Ice

My love is like to ice, and I to fire:How come it then that this her cold is so great

Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,But harder grows the more I her entreat?Or how comes it that my exceeding heatIs not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,

But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,And feel my flames augmented manifold?What more miraculous thing may be told,

That fire, which is congealed with senseless cold,Should kindle fire by wonderful device?

Such is the power of love in gentle mind,

That it can alter all the course of kind.

- by Edmund Spenser



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Marriage Morningby Alfred Tennyson

Light, so low upon earth,You send a flash to the sun.

Here is the golden close of love,All my wooing is done.

Oh, the woods and the meadows,Woods where we hid from the wet,Stiles where we stay'd to be kind,

Meadows in which we met!

Light, so low in the valeYou flash and lighten afar,

For this is the golden morning of love,

And you are his morning start.Flash, I am coming, I come,By meadow and stile and wood,

Oh, lighten into my eyes and heart,Into my heart and my blood!

Heart, are you great enoughFor a love that never tires?

O' heart, are you great enough for love?I have heard of thorns and briers,

Over the meadow and stiles,Over the world to the end of it

Flash for a million miles.

She Comes Not

She comes not when Noon is on the roses--Too bright is Day.

She comes not to the Soul till it reposesFrom work and play.

But when Night is on the hills, and the great VoicesRoll in from Sea,

By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

She comes to me.

- Herbert Trench



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

My Love in Her Attireby Author Unknown

My love in her attire doth show her wit,It doth so well become her:

For every season she hath dressings, fit,For winter, spring, and summer.

No beauty she doth miss,When all her robes are on:

But Beauty's self she is,When all her robes are gone.

Go, Lovely Rose

Tell her that wastes her time and me,That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that 's young,And shuns to have her graces spied,

That hadst thou sprungIn deserts where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

Small is the worthOf beauty from the light retired:

Bid her come forth,Suffer herself to be desired,

And not blush so to be admired.

Then die—that sheThe common fate of all things rare

May read in thee;How small a part of time they share

That are so wondrous sweet and fair!



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love Song for AlexMargaret Walker (1915-1998)

My monkey-wrench man is my sweet patootie;the lover of my life, my youth and age.

My heart belongs to him and to him only;the children of my flesh are his and bear his rage

Now grown to years advancing through the dozensthe honeyed kiss, the lips of wine and fire

fade blissfully into the distant years of yonderbut all my days of Happiness and wonderare cradled in his arms and eyes entire.

They carry us under the waters of the worldout past the starposts of a distant planet

And creeping through the seaweed of the ocean

they tangle us with ropes and yarn of memorieswhere we have been together, you and I.

To a Strangerby Walt Whitman (1819 - 1892)

Passing stranger! you do not knowHow longingly I look upon you,You must be he I was seeking,

Or she I was seeking(It comes to me as a dream)

I have somewhere surelyLived a life of joy with you,

All is recall'd as we flit by each other,Fluid, affectionate, chaste, matured,

You grew up with me,Were a boy with me or a girl with me,

I ate with you and slept with you, your body has becomenot yours only nor left my body mine only,

You give me the pleasure of your eyes,face, flesh as we pass,

You take of my beard, breast, hands,in return,

I am not to speak to you, I am to think of youwhen I sit alone or wake at night, alone

I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you againI am to see to it that I do not lose you.



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

Love Not Me

Love not me for comely grace,For my pleasing eye or face,

Nor for any outward part:No, nor for a constant heart!

For these may fail or turn to ill:Should thou and I sever.

Keep, therefore, a true woman's eye,And love me still, but know not why!

So hast thou the same reason stillTo dote upon me ever.

- John Wilbye

He Wishes for the Cloths of Heavenfrom "The Wind Among the Reeds"

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,Enwrought with golden and silver light,

The blue and the dim and the dark clothsOf night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

--W.B. Yeats, 1888



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

The Rose in the Deeps of His Heart

All things uncomely and broken,all things worn-out and old,

The cry of a child by the roadway,the creak of a lumbering cart,

The heavy steps of the ploughman,splashing the wintry mould,

Are wronging your image that blossomsa rose in the deeps of my heart.

The wrong of unshapely thingsis a wrong too great to be told;

I hunger to build them anewand sit on a green knoll apart,

With the earth and the sky and the water,remade, like a casket of gold

For my dreams of your image that blossomsa rose in the deeps of my heart.

- William Butler Yeats



i n f o

t e c h 1 0 0

C l a s

s i c P o

e m s

The Ragged Wood

O, hurry, where by water, among the trees,The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,

When they have looked upon their imagesWould none had ever loved but you and I!

Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoedPale silver-proud queen-woman of the sky,

When the sun looked out of his golden hood?O, that none ever loved but you and I!

O hurry to the ragged wood, for thereI will drive all those lovers out and cry

O, my share of the world, O, yellow hair!No one has ever loved but you and I.

- William Butler Yeats

Beauty and Love

Beauty and love are all my dream;They change not with the changing day;

Love stays forever like a streamThat flows but never flows away;

And beauty is the bright sun-bowThat blossoms on the spray that showers

Where the loud water falls below,Making a wind among the flowers.

- Andrew Young

100 classic love poems

Documents