classic love poems

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This pdf. file is compiled by Darshan Chande . Read more of classic short stories and poems, and many other fine pieces of old and modern world literature on the Literature-lovers' Website It's Such a Little Thing by Emily Dickinson It's such a little thing to weep, So short a thing to sigh; And yet by trades the size of these We men and women die! Heart, We Will Forget Him by Emily Dickinson 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 lagging I may remember him! Evening Song by Sidney Lanier

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  • This pdf. file is compiled by Darshan Chande. Read more of classic short stories and poems, and many other fine pieces of old and modern world literature on the Literature-lovers' Website

    It's Such a Little Thingby Emily Dickinson

    It's such a little thing to weep,

    So short a thing to sigh;

    And yet by trades the size of these

    We men and women die!

    Heart, We Will Forget Himby Emily Dickinson

    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 lagging

    I may remember him!

    Evening Songby Sidney Lanier

  • Look off, dear Love, across the sallow sands,

    And mark yon meeting of the sun and sea;

    How long they kiss in sight of all the lands,

    Ah! longer, longer we.

    Now, in the sea's red vintage melts the sun

    As Egypt's pearl dissolved in rosy wine

    And Cleopatra-night drinks all- 'tis done,

    Love, lay thine hand in mine.

    Come forth, sweet stars, and comfort heaven's heart,

    Glimmer, ye waves, 'round else unlighted sands;

    Oh night! divorce our sun and sky apart-

    Never our lips, our hands.

    I Taste a Liquorby Emily Dickinson

    I taste a liquor never brewed

    From Tankards scooped in Pearl.

    Not all the vats upon the Rhine

    Yield such an alcohol!

    Inebriate of air - am I

    And Debauchee of Dew.

    Reeling - thro endless summer days

    From inns of molten blue.

    When "Landlords" turn the drunken bee

    Out of the foxglove's door -

    When butterflies - renounce their "drams"

    I shall but drink the more!

  • Till seraphs swing their snowy hats

    And saints - to windows run

    To see the little Tippler

    Leaning against the - sun

    Annie Laurieby William Douglas

    Maxwelton's hills are bonnie

    Where early falls the dew

    And 'twas there that Annie Laurie

    Gived me her promise true.

    Gived me her promise true

    Which ne'er forgot shall be

    And for bonnie Annie Laurie

    I'd lay me down and die.

    Her brow is like the snow drift,

    Her throat is like the swan,

    Her face, it is the fairest

    That e'er the sun shone on.

    That e'er the sun shone on

    And dark blue are her eyes

    And for bonnie Annie Laurie

    I'd lay me down and die.

    Like dew on the daisy lyin'

    Is the fall of her fairy feet

    And like winds in summer sighing

    Her voice is low and sweet.

  • Her voice is low and sweet

    And she's all the world to me

    And for bonnie Annie Laurie

    I'd lay me down and die.

    The Heart Asksby Emily Dickinson

    The heart asks pleasure first

    And then, excuse from pain;

    And then those little anodynes

    That deaden suffering,

    And then to go to sleep

    And then, if it should be,

    The will of its Inquisitor

    The liberty to die!

    My Pretty Rose Treeby William Blake

    A flower was offered to me:

    Such a flower as May never bore.

    But I said "I've a Pretty Rose-tree",

    And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

    Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree:

    To tend her by day and by night.

    But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy:

  • And her thorns were my only delight.

    Bereftby Robert Frost

    Where had I heard this wind before

    Change like this to a deeper roar?

    What would it take my standing there for,

    Holding open a restive door,

    Looking downhill to a frothy shore?

    Summer was past and day was past.

    Somber clouds in the west were massed.

    Out in the porch's sagging floor

    Leaves got up in a coil and hissed,

    Blindly struck at my knee and missed.

    Something sinister in the tone

    Told me my secret must be known:

    Word I was in the house alone

    Somehow must have gotten abroad,

    Word I was in my life alone,

    Word I had no one left but God.

    Sweet Disorderby Robert Herrick

    A sweet disorder in the dress

    Kindles in clothes a wantonness:

  • A lawn about the shoulders thrown

    Into a fine distraction --

    An erring lace, which here and there

    Enthrals the crimson stomacher --

    A cuff neglectful, and thereby

    Ribbands 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.

    Soon, O Ianthe!by Walter Savage Landor

    Soon, O Ianthe! life is o'er,

    And sooner beauty's heavenly smile:

    Grant only (and I ask no more),

    Let love remain that little while.

    To Earthwardby Robert Frost

    Love at the lips was touch

    As 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 springs

    Down hill at dusk?

    I had the swirl and ache

    From sprays of honeysuckle

    That when they're gathered shake

    Dew on the knuckle.

    I craved strong sweets, but those

    Seemed strong when I was young;

    The petal of the rose

    It was that stung.

    Now no joy but lacks salt

    That is not dashed with pain

    And weariness and fault;

    I crave the stain

    Of tears, the aftermark

    Of almost too much love,

    The sweet of bitter bark

    And burning clove.

    When stiff and sore and scarred

    I take away my hand

    From leaning on it hard

    In grass and sand,

    The hurt is not enough:

    I long for weight and strength

    To feel the earth as rough

  • To all my length.

    She Walks In Beautyby George Gordon, Lord Byron

    She walks in beauty, like the night

    Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

    And all that's best of dark and bright

    Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

    Thus mellow'd to that tender light

    Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

    One shade the more, one ray the less,

    Had half impair'd the nameless grace

    Which waves in every raven tress,

    Or softly lightens o'er her face;

    Where thoughts serenely sweet express

    How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

    And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

    So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

    The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

    But tell of days in goodness spent,

    A mind at peace with all below,

    A heart whose love is innocent!

    Hope is a Thing With Feathersby Emily Dickinson

  • Hope is a thing with feathers

    That perches in the soul

    And sings a tune without words

    And never stops at all.

    And sweetest, in the gale, is heard

    And sore must be the storm

    That could abash the little bird

    That keeps so many warm.

    I've heard it in the chilliest land

    And on the strangest sea

    Yet, never, in extremity

    It ask a crumb of me.

    John Anderson, my Joby Robert Burns

    John Anderson, my Jo, John,

    When we were first acquent,

    Your locks were like the raven,

    Your bonnie brow was brent;

    But now your brow is beld, John,

    Your locks are like the snaw,

    But blessings on your frosty pow,

    John Anderson, my Jo!

    John Anderson, my Jo, John,

    We clamb the hill thegither,

    And monie a cantie day, John,

    We've had wi' ane anither;

  • Now we maun totter down, John,

    And hand in hand we'll go,

    And sleep thegither at the foot,

    John Anderson, my Jo!

    For some we lovedby Omar Khayyam

    For some we loved, the loveliest and the best

    That from His vintage rolling Time hath pressed,

    Have drunk the Cup a round or two before,

    And one by one crept silently to rest.

    A Magic Moment I Rememberby Alexander Pushkin

    A magic moment I remember:

    I raised my eyes and you were there.

    A fleeting vision, the quintessence

    Of all that's beautiful and rare.

    I pray to mute despair and anguish

    To vain pursuits the world esteems,

    Long did I near your soothing accents,

    Long did your features haunt my dreams.

    Time passed- A rebel storm-blast scattered

    The reveries that once were mine

    And I forgot your soothing accents,

  • Your features gracefully divine.

    In dark days of enforced retirement

    I gazed upon grey skies above

    With no ideals to inspire me,

    No one to cry for, live for, love.

    Then came a moment of renaissance,

    I looked up- you again are there,

    A fleeting vision, the quintessence

    Of all that`s beautiful and rare.

    I Held a Jewelby Emily Dickinson

    I held a jewel in my fingers

    And went to sleep

    The day was warm, and winds were prosy

    I said, "Twill keep"

    I woke - and chide my honest fingers,

    The Gem was gone

    And now, an Amethyst remembrance

    Is all I own

    Song: To Celiaby Ben Jonson

    Drink to me, only with thine eyes

    And 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 rise

    Doth ask a drink divine:

    But might I of Jove's nectar sup

    I would not change for thine.

    I sent thee late a rosy wreath,

    Not so much honouring thee

    As giving it a hope that there

    It could not withered be

    But thou thereon didst only breath

    And sent'st it back to me:

    Since, when it grows and smells, I swear,

    Not of itself but thee.

    There is a Lady Sweet and Kindby Thomas Ford

    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.

    What If I Sayby Emily Dickinson

    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 can call and Guns implore;

    Unmeaning now to me

    As laughter was an hour ago

    Or Laces or a Traveling Show

    Or Who died yesterday!

    A Red, Red Roseby Robert Burns

    O my luve's like a red, red rose.

    That's newly sprung in June;

    O my luve's like a melodie

    That'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!

    She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Waysby William Wordsworth

    She dwelt among the untrodden ways

    Beside the springs of Dove,

    A maid whom there were none to praise

    And very few to love:

    A violet by a mossy stone

    Half hidden from the eye!

    Fair as a star-- when only one

    Is shining in the sky.

    She lived unknown, and few could know

    When Lucy ceased to be;

    But she is in her grave, and, oh,

    The difference to me!

  • Annabel Leeby Edgar Allen Poe

    It was many and many a year ago,

    In a kingdom by the sea,

    That a maiden there lived whom you may know

    By the name of Annabel Lee;

    And this maiden she lived with no other thought

    Than 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, chilling

    My beautiful Annabel Lee;

    So that her high-born kinsman came

    And bore her away from me,

    To shut her up in a sepulchre,

    In this kingdom by the sea.

    The angel, not half so happy in heaven,

    Went envying her and me...

    Yes!--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 love

    Of those who were older than we,

    Of many far wiser than we--

    And 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 sepulchre there by the sea,

    In her tomb by the sounding sea.

    The Lakeby Edgar Allen Poe

    In spring of youth it was my lot

    To haunt of the wide world a spot

    The which I could not love the less--

    So lovely was the loneliness,

    Of a wild lake, with black rock bound

    And the tall pines that towered around.

    But when the Night had thrown her pall

    Upon that spot, as upon all,

  • And the mystic wind went by

    Murmuring in melody--

    Then- ah then I would awake

    To the terror of the lone lake.

    Yet, that terror was not fright

    But a tremulous delight--

    A feeling not the jewelled mine

    Could teach or bribe me to define--

    Nor Love- although the Love were thine.

    Death was in that poisonous wave

    And in its gulf a fitting grave

    For him who thence could solace bring

    To his lone imagining--

    Whose solitary soul could make

    An Eden of that dim lake.

    My Friendby Emily Dickinson

    My friend must be a bird

    Because he flies.

    Mortal, my friend must be

    Because he dies!

    Barbs has he, like a bee.

    Ah, curious friend.

    Thou puzzlest me

  • Beauty and Loveby Andrew Young

    Beauty and love are all my dream;

    They change not with the changing day;

    Love stays forever like a stream

    That flows but never flows away;

    And beauty is the bright sun-bow

    That blossoms on the spray that showers

    Where the loud water falls below,

    Making a wind among the flowers.

    Under the Harvest Moonby Carl Sandburg

    Under the harvest moon,

    When the soft silver

    Drips shimmering

    Over garden nights,

    Death, the gray mocker,

    Comes and whispers to you

    As a beautiful friend

    Who remembers.

    Under the summer roses

    When the flagrant crimson

    Lurks in the dusk

    Of the wild red leaves,

    Love, with little hands,

  • Comes and touches you

    With a thousand memories,

    And asks you

    Beautiful, unanswerable questions.

    Lodgedby Robert Frost

    The rain to the wind said,

    "You push and I'll pelt."

    They so smote the garden bed

    That the flowers actually knelt,

    And lay lodged -- though not dead.

    I know how the flowers felt.

    Tell me not, Sweet,by Richard Lovelace

    Tell me not, Sweet, I am unkind

    For, 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- embrace

    A sword, a horse, a shield.

    Yet this unconstancy is such

  • As you too shall adore;

    For, I could not love thee, Dear, so much,

    Loved I not honour more.

    Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIVby Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    If thou must love me, let it be for nought

    Except for love's sake only. Do not say

    'I love her for her smile--her look--her way

    Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought

    That falls in well with mine, and certes brought

    A sense of pleasant ease on such a day

    For these things in themselves, Beloved, may

    Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,

    May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

    Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,

    A creature might forget to weep, who bore

    Thy comfort long, and lose thy love, thereby!

    But love me for love's sake, that evermore

    Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

    Maybeby Carl Sandburg

    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 shoulder

    And when he asks me I will say yes,

    Maybe.

    Magby Carl Sandburg

    I wish to God I never saw you, Mag.

    I wish you never quit your job and came along with me.

    I wish we never bought a license and a white dress

    For you to get married in the day we ran off to the minister

    And told him we would love each other and take care of each other

    Always and always, as long as the sun and the rain lasts anywhere.

    Yes, I'm wishing now you lived somewhere away from here

    And I was a bum on the bumpers a thousand miles away, dead broke.

    I wish the kids had never come,

    And the rent, and coal, and clothes to pay for,

    And the grocery man calling for cash.

    Every day, cash for beans and prunes.

    I wish to God I never saw you, Mag!

    I wish to God the kids had never come!

    The Spring and the Fallby Edna St. Vincent Millay

  • In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year,

    I walked the road beside my dear.

    The trees were black where the bark was wet.

    I see them yet, in the spring of the year.

    He broke me a bough of the blossoming peach

    That was out of the way and hard to reach.

    In the fall of the year, in the fall of the year,

    I walked the road beside my dear.

    The rooks went up with a raucous trill.

    I hear them still, in the fall of the year.

    He laughed at all I dared to praise

    And broke my heart, in little ways.

    Year be spring or year be falling,

    The bark will drip and the birds be calling.

    There's much that's fine to see and hear

    In the spring of a year, in the fall of a year.

    'Tis not love's going hurt my days,

    But that it went in little ways.

    The Dreamby Edna St. Vincent Millay

    Love, if I weep it will not matter,

    And if you laugh I shall not care;

    Foolish am I to think about it,

    But it is good to feel you there.

    Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,

  • White and awful the moonlight reached

    Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere

    There was a shutter loose- it screeched!

    Swung in the wind- and no wind blowing-

    I was afraid and turned to you,

    Put out my hand to you for comfort-

    And you were gone! Cold as the dew,

    Under my hand the moonlight lay!

    Love, if you laugh I shall not care,

    But if I weep it will not matter-

    Ah, it is good to feel you there.

    My Love Is Like to Iceby Edmund Spenser

    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 heat

    Is 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.

  • Mild Is The Parting Yearby Walter Savage Landor

    Mild is the parting year and sweet

    The odour of the falling spray;

    Life passes on more rudely fleet,

    And balmless is its closing day.

    I wait its close, I court its gloom,

    But mourn that never must there fall;

    Or on my breast or on my tomb

    The tear that would have soothed it all.

    If I May Have Itby Emily Dickinson

    If I may have it when it's dead

    I will contented be;

    If just as soon as breath is out

    It shall belong to me,

    Until they lock it in the grave,

    'Tis bliss I cannot weigh,

    For though they lock thee in the grave,

    Myself can hold the key.

    Think of it, lover! I and thee

    Permitted face to face to be;

    After a life, a death we'll say, -

    For death was that, but this is thee.

  • Almsby Edna St. Vincent Millay

    My heart is what it was before,

    A house where people come and go

    But it is winter with your love,

    The sashes are beset with snow.

    I light the lamp and lay the cloth,

    I blow the coals to blaze again

    But it is winter with your love

    The frost is thick upon the pane

    I know a winter when it comes

    The leaves are listless on the boughs;

    I watched your love a little while

    And brought my plants into the house.

    I water them and turned them south,

    I snap the dead brown from the stem

    But it is winter with your love,

    I only tend and water them.

    There was a time I stood and watched

    The small ill-natured sparrows' fray

    I loved the beggar that I fed,

    I cared for what he had to say.

    I stood and watched him out of sight;

    Today I reach around the door

    And set a bowl upon the step

    My heart is what it was before.

  • But it is winter with your love;

    I scatter crumbs upon the sill

    And close the window - and the birds

    May take or leave them, as they will.

    Of Pearls and Starsby Heinrich Heine

    The pearly treasures of the sea,

    The lights that spatter heaven above,

    More precious than these wonders are

    My heart-of-hearts filled with your love.

    The ocean's power, the heavenly sights

    Cannot outweigh a love filled heart.

    And sparkling stars or glowing pearls

    Pale as love flashes, beams and darts.

    So, little, youthful maiden come

    Into my ample, feverish heart

    For heaven and earth and sea and sky

    Do melt as love hath melt my heart.

    The Sorrow of Loveby William Butler Yeats

    The quarrel of the sparrow in the eaves,

    The full round moon and the star-laden sky,

  • And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,

    Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.

    And then you came with those red mournful lips,

    And with you came the whole of the world's tears,

    And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,

    And all the burden of her myriad years.

    And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,

    The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,

    And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,

    Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.

    Happinessby Carl Sandburg

    I asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me,

    what is happiness.

    And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands

    of men.

    They all shook their heads and gave me a smile, as though I

    was trying to fool with them.

    And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Des Plaines

    River

    And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their

    women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

    A Song Of Love

  • by Sidney Lanier

    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 Pain

    Be kinfolks twain;

    Yet would, Oh would I could Love again.

    The Rose of Sharonby Solomon

    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.

    Music, When Soft Voices Dieby Percy Bysshe Shelley

    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.

    Love And A Questionby Robert Frost

    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 lips

    For a shelter for the night,

  • And he turned and looked at the road afar

    Without a window light.

    The bridegroom came forth into the porch

    With, "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 alone

    Bent over the open fire,

    Her face rose-red with the glowing coal

    And 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 gold

    And 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 asked

    To mar the love of two

    by harboring woe in the bridal house,

    The bridegroom wished he knew.

  • When I Was One-And-Twentyby A. E. Housman

    When I was one-and-twenty

    I heard a wise man say,

    "Give crowns and pounds and guineas

    But not your heart away;

    Give pearls away and rubies

    But keep your fancy free."

    But I was one-and-twenty,

    No use to talk to me.

    When I was one-and-twenty

    I heard him say again,

    "The heart out of the bosom

    Was never given in vain;

    'Tis paid with sighs aplenty

    And sold for endless rue."

    And I am two-and-twenty

    And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true.

    The Rose in the Deeps of his Heartby William Butler Yeats

    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 blossoms

    a rose in the deeps of my heart.

    The wrong of unshapely things

    is a wrong too great to be told;

    I hunger to build them anew

    and 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 blossoms

    a rose in the deeps of my heart.

    Shall I Compare Thee, (Sonnet XVIII)by William Shakespeare

    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.

    A Charm Invests a Faceby Emily Dickinson

    A charm invests a face

    Imperfectly beheld.

    The lady dare not lift her veil

    For fear it be dispelled.

    But peers beyond her mesh,

    And wishes, and denies,

    ?Lest interview annul a want

    That image satisfies.

    Proud of my Broken Heartby Emily Dickinson

    Proud of my broken heart, since thou didst break it.

    Proud of the pain, I did not feel ?till thee.

    Proud of my night, since thou, with moons, dos't shake it.

    Not to partake thy passion, -my humility

    To Maryby John Clare

    I sleep with thee and wake with thee

    And yet thou art not there;

  • I fill my arms with thoughts of thee

    And press the common air.

    Thy eyes are gazing upon mine

    When thou art out of sight;

    My lips are always touching thine

    At morning, noon, and night.

    I think and speak of other things

    To keep my mind at rest

    But still to thee my memory clings

    Like love in woman's breast.

    I hide it from the world's wide eye

    And think and speak contrary,

    But soft the wind comes from the sky

    And whispers tales of Mary.

    The night wind whispers in my ear,

    The moon shines on my face;

    The burden still of chilling fear

    I find in every place.

    The breeze is whispering in the bush,

    The leaves fall from the tree;

    All sighing on and will not hush,

    Some pleasant tales of thee.

    Who Ever Loved That Loved Not at First Sight?by Christopher Marlowe

    It lies not in our power to love or hate,

    For will in us is overruled by fate.

  • When two are stripped, long ere the course begin,

    We wish that one should love, the other win;

    And one especially do we affect

    Of two gold ingots, like in each respect:

    The reason no man knows; let it suffice

    What we behold is censured by our eyes.

    Where both deliberate, the love is slight:

    Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

    To lose Theeby Emily Dickinson

    To lose thee, sweeter than to gain

    All other hearts I knew.

    ?Tis true the drought is destitute

    But, then, I had the dew!

    The Caspian has its realms of sand,

    Its other realm of sea.

    Without this sterile perquisite

    No Caspian could be.

    Beautiful Dreamerby Stephen Foster

    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 sea

    Mermaids 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!

    We Are Sevenby William Wordsworth

    A simple child...

    That lightly draws its breath

    And feels its life in every limb,

    What should it know of death?

    I met a little cottage girl-

    She was eight years old, she said;

    Her hair was thick with many a curl

    That clustered 'round her head.

    She had a rustic, woodland air

    And she was wildly clad;

    Her eyes were fair, and very fair;

  • Her beauty made me glad.

    "Sisters and brothers, little maid,

    How many may you be?"

    "How many? Seven in all," she said

    And wondering looked at me.

    "And where are they? I pray you tell."

    She answered, "Seven are we;

    And two of us at Conway dwell

    And two are gone to sea."

    "Two of us in the churchyard lie,

    My sister and my brother

    And in the churchyard cottage, I

    Dwell near them with my mother."

    "You say that two at Conway dwell

    And two are gone to sea,

    Yet, ye are seven! I pray you tell,

    Sweet maid, how this may be."

    Then did the little maid reply,

    "Seven boys and girls are we;

    Two of us in the churchyard lie,

    Beneath the churchyard tree."

    "You run about, my little maid,

    Your limbs they are alive;

    If two are in the churchyard laid

    Then ye are only five."

    "Their graves are green, they may be seen,"

    The little maid replied,

    "Twelve steps or more from my mother's door

  • And they are side by side."

    "My stockings there I often knit,

    My kerchief there I hem;

    And there upon the ground I sit

    And sing a song to them."

    "And often after sunset, sir,

    When it is light and fair

    I take my little porringer

    And eat my supper there."

    "The first that died was sister Jane;

    In bed she moaning lay,

    Till God released her of her pain

    And then she went away."

    "So in the churchyard she was laid

    And, when the grass was dry

    Together round her grave we played,

    My brother John and I."

    "And when the ground was white with snow

    And I could run and slide,

    My brother John was forced to go

    And he lies by her side."

    "How many are you, then," said I,

    "If they two are in heaven?"

    Quick was the little maid's reply,

    "O master! We are seven."

    "But they are dead; those two are dead!

    Their spirits are in heaven!"

    'T was throwing words away; for still

  • The little maid would have her will

    And said... "Nay, we are seven!"

    Sonnet CXVIby William Shakespeare

    Let me not to the marriage of true minds

    Admit 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.

    Wind and Window Flowerby Robert Frost

    Lovers, forget your love,

    And list to the love of these,

    She a window flower,

  • And he a winter breeze.

    When the frosty window veil

    Was 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 by

    To 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 within

    Who lay that night awake.

    Perchance he half prevailed

    To win her for the flight

    From the firelit looking-glass

    And warm stove-window light.

    But the flower leaned aside

    And thought of naught to say,

    And morning found the breeze

    A hundred miles away.

    A Dream within a Dreamby Edgar Allen Poe

  • Take this kiss upon the brow!

    And, in parting from you now,

    Thus much let me avow-

    You are not wrong, who deem

    That 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 roar

    Of 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 weep- while 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?

    Die Loreleiby Heinrich Heine

  • I know not the significance

    Or the meaning of my sadness...

    There's a fairy-tail from times past

    A lingering portion of my madness.

    The air is cool as light recedes

    And calmly flows the Rhine;

    The peak of a nearby mountain glows

    In the gloaming sun's shine.

    Above a chaste woman sits

    Radiant and quite unaware;

    With golden jewelry flashing

    She combs her golden hair.

    She strokes it with a glittering comb,

    As she toils a song's befalling.

    A mysterious song, an enchanting air

    With a melody enthralling.

    Her lay is heard by the boatmen near

    Who are seized with woe and pain

    And tho' there are dangerous rocks nearby

    To her visage and song they strain.

    So, the boat is lost and the boatmen, too

    Engulfed, I do imply

    By the beautiful face and enticing strain,

    The song of the Lorelei.

    She Tells Her Loveby Robert Ranke Graves

  • She tells her love while half asleep,

    In the dark hours,

    With half-words whispered low:

    As Earth stirs in her winter sleep

    And puts out grass and flowers

    Despite the snow,

    Despite the falling snow.

    Why Is The Rose So Paleby Heinrich Heine

    Oh Dearest, canst thou tell me why

    The Rose should be so pale?

    And why the azure Violet

    Should wither in the vale?

    And why the Lark should, in the cloud,

    So sorrowfully sing?

    And why from loveliest balsam-buds

    A scent of death should spring?

    And why the Sun upon the mead

    So chillingly should frown?

    And why the Earth should, like a grave,

    Be mouldering and brown?

    And why is it that I, myself,

    So languishing should be?

    And why is it, my Heart-of-Hearts,

    That thou forsakest me?

  • She Comes Notby Herbert Trench

    She comes not when Noon is on the roses--

    Too bright is Day.

    She comes not to the Soul till it reposes

    From work and play.

    But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices

    Roll in from Sea,

    By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

    She comes to me.

    A wounded deer leaps highestby Emily Dickinson

    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 redder

    Just where the hectic stings!

    Mirth is mail of anguish,

    In which its cautious arm

    Lest anybody spy the blood

  • And, "you're hurt" exclaim

    She Is Not Fair To Outward Viewby Hartley Coleridge

    She is not fair to outward view

    as many maidens be;

    Her loveliness I never knew

    until she smiled on me.

    Oh, then I saw her eye was bright,

    a well of love, a spring of light.

    But now her looks are coy and cold,

    to mine they ne'er reply

    And, yet, I cease not to behold

    the love-light in her eye.

    Her very frowns are fairer far

    than smiles of other maidens are.

    Love Not Meby John Wilbye

    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 still

    To dote upon me ever.

    Come Fill The Cupby Omar Khayyam

    Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of spring

    Your winter garment of repentance fling.

    The bird of time has but a little way

    To flutter - and the bird is on the wing.

    Still to be Neatby Ben Jonson

    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.

    The Clod & the Pebbleby William Blake

    Love seeketh not Itself to please,

    Nor for itself hath any care;

    But for another gives its ease,

    And builds a Heaven in Hell's 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 It's delight:

    Joys in another's loss of ease,

    And builds a Hell in Heavens despite.

    I Singby Emily Dickinson

    I sing to use the waiting

    My bonnet but to tie,

    And close the door unto my house

    No more to do have I

    ?Till his best step approaching,

    We journey to the day,

  • And tell each other how we sung

    To keep the Dark away.

    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.

    Dear Chainsby Alexander Pushkin

    Rose-maiden, no, I do not quarrel

    With these dear chains, they don't demean.

    The nightingale embushed in laurel,

    The sylvan singers' feathered queen,

    Does she not bear the same sweet plight?

    Near the proud rose's beauty dwelling,

    And with her tender anthems thrilling

    The dusk of a voluptuous night.

  • When the Lamp Is Shatteredby Percy Bysshe Shelley

    When the lamp is shattered

    The light in the dust lies dead

    When the cloud is scattered

    The rainbow's glory is shed.

    When the lute is broken,

    Sweet tones are remembered not.

    When the lips have spoken,

    Loved accents are soon forgot.

    As music and splendour

    Survive not the lamp and the lute.

    The heart's echoes render

    No song when the spirit is mute--

    No song but sad dirges,

    Like the wind through a ruined cell,

    Or the mournful surges

    That ring the dead seaman's knell.

    When hearts have once mingled

    Love first leaves the well-built nest.

    The weak one is singled

    To endure what it once possessed.

    Oh Love! who bewailest

    The frailty of all things here,

    Why choose you the frailest

    For your cradle, your home, and your bier?

    Its passions will rock thee

  • As the storms rock the ravens on high.

    Bright reason will mock thee,

    Like the sun from a wintry sky.

    >From thy nest every rafter

    Will rot, and thine eagle home

    Leave thee naked to laughter,

    When leaves fall and cold winds come.

    Farewell to Loveby Michael Drayton

    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.

    A Friend Like You

  • by Author Unknown

    There's lots of things

    With which I'm blessed,

    Tho' my life's been both Sunny and Blue,

    But of all my blessings,

    This one's the best:

    To have a friend like you.

    In times of trouble

    Friends will say,

    "Just ask... I'll help you through it."

    But you don't wait for me to ask,

    You just get up

    And you do it!

    And I can think

    Of nothing in life

    That I could more wisely do,

    Than know a friend,

    And be a friend,

    And love a friend... like you.

    The Banks Of Bonnie Doonby Robert Burns

    Yon banks and hills of bonnie Doon,

    How can you bloom so fresh and fair?

    And little birds, how can you chaunt

    With me so weary... full o' care?

  • You'll break my heart, you warbling birds

    That wanton thru the flow'ry thorns

    You remind me of departed joys

    Departed... never to return.

    Oft did I rove by bonnie Doon

    To see the rose and woodbine twine

    And every bird sang of its love

    As fondly once I sang of mine.

    With lightsome heart I pulled a rose

    Full sweet from off its thorny tree

    But my first lover stole that rose

    And, ah! has left its thorns with me.

    You know, my friendsby Omar Khayyam

    You know, my friends, with what a brave carouse

    I made a second marriage in my house

    Divorced old barren Reason from my bed,

    And took the daughter of the Vine to spouse.

    The Baitby John Donne

    Come live with me and be my love

    And we will some new pleasures prove

    Of golden sands and crystal brooks,

    With silken lines and silver hooks.

  • There will the river- whispering run

    Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun

    And there th' enamoured fish will stay,

    Begging themselves they may betray.

    When thou wilt swim in that live bath,

    Each fish, which every channel hath,

    Will amorously to thee swim,

    Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

    If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,

    By sun or moon, thou darken'st both

    And if myself have leave to see,

    I need not their light, having thee.

    Let others freeze with angling reeds,

    And cut their legs with shells and weeds

    Or treacherously poor fish beset,

    With strangling snare or windowy net.

    Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest

    The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;

    Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,

    Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

    For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,

    For thou thyself art thine own bait:

    That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,

    Alas, is wiser far than I.

    The Ragged Woodby William Butler Yeats

  • O, hurry, where by water, among the trees,

    The delicate-stepping stag and his lady sigh,

    When they have looked upon their images

    Would none had ever loved but you and I!

    Or have you heard that sliding silver-shoed

    Pale 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 there

    I 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.

    To the Virgins, Make Much of Timeby Robert Herrick

    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 worst

    Times 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.

    Goneby Carl Sandburg

    Everybody loved Chick Lorimer in our town,

    Far off

    Everybody loved her.

    So we all love a wild girl keeping a hold

    On a dream she wants.

    Nobody knows now where Chick Lorimer went.

    Nobody knows why she packed her trunk.

    A few old things... and is gone.

    One with her little chin

    Thrust ahead of her

    And her soft hair blowing careless

    From under a wide hat,

    Dancer, singer, a laughing passionate lover.

    Were there ten men or a hundred hunting Chick?

    Were there five men or fifty with aching hearts?

    Everybody loved Chick Lorimer.

    Nobody knows where she's gone.

    Upon Julia's Clothes

  • by Robert Herrick

    Whenas in silks my Julia goes,

    Then, then, methinks, how sweetly flows

    The liquefaction of her clothes.

    Next, when I cast mine eyes, and see

    That brave vibration, each way free,

    Oh, how that glittering taketh me!

    I Lost A Worldby Emily Dickinson

    I lost a world the other day.

    Has anybody found?

    You?ll know it by the row of stars

    Around its forehead bound.

    A rich man might not notice it;

    Yet to my frugal eye

    Of more esteem than ducats.

    Oh, find it, Sir, for me!

    Untitledby Unknown (13th Century)

    There are little traits that keep me bound...

    I think of nothing else save the bright face of my lady-

    Ah me! Her swan-white throat, her strong chin,

  • Her fresh laughing mouth which daily seems to say,

    "Come kiss me, love, kiss me once again!

    Her regal nose, her smiling grey eyes-

    (That thieve to steal a lovers heart)-

    And her brown tresses that wildly fly.

    Each have wounded me as with a dart

    So amorous are these that I deem they will slay me.

    Ah God, ah God! Alas, who will save me?

    Rose Aylmerby Walter Savage Landor

    Ah, what avails the sceptred race;

    Ah, what the form divine.

    What every virtue, every grace,

    Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

    Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes

    May weep, but never see;

    A night of memories and of sighs

    I consecrate to thee.

    You Left Meby Emily Dickinson

    You left me, sweet, two legacies, -

    A legacy of love

    A Heavenly Father would content,

  • Had He the offer of;

    You left me boundaries of pain

    Capacious as the sea,

    Between eternity and time,

    Your consciousness and me.

    Wild Nightsby Emily Dickinson

    Wild nights. Wild nights!

    Were I with thee,

    Wild nights should be

    Our luxury!

    Futile the winds

    To a heart in port

    Done with the compass

    Done with the chart.

    Rowing in Eden.

    Ah, the sea.

    Might I but moor

    Tonight with thee!

    How Do I Love Thee?by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

    I 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 Grace.

    I 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 Praise.

    I 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.

    Eulalieby Edgar Allen Poe

    I dwelt alone

    In a world of moan

    And my soul was a stagnant tide

    Till the fair and gentle Eulalie

    became my blushing bride-

    Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie

    became my smiling bride.

    Ah, less-- less bright

    Are the stars of night

    Than the eyes of the radiant girl!

    And never a flake

    That the vapor can make

  • With the moon-tints of purple and pearl,

    Can vie with the modest Eulalie's

    most unregarded curl-

    Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's

    most humble and careless curl.

    Now Doubt-- now Pain

    Come never again,

    For her soul gives me sigh for sigh

    And all day long

    Shines, bright and strong,

    Astarte within the sky,

    While ever to her dear Eulalie

    upturns her matron eye-

    While ever to her young Eulalie

    upturns her violet eye.

    Come Slowlyby Emily Dickinson

    Come slowly, Eden

    Lips unused to thee.

    Bashful, sip thy jasmines,

    As the fainting bee,

    Reaching late his flower,

    Round her chamber hums,

    Counts his nectars -alights,

  • And is lost in balms!My True Love Has My Heartby Philip Sidney

    My true-love hath my heart and I have his,

    By just exchange one for the other given;

    I hold his dear and mine he cannot miss;

    There never was a better bargain driven.

    My true-love hath my heart and I have his,

    His heart in me keeps him and me in one;

    My heart in him his thoughts and senses guides;

    He loves my heart for once it was his own,

    I cherish his because in me it bides.

    My true-love hath my heart and I have his,

    I Loved Youby Alexander Pushkin

    I loved you-

    even now I may confess

    Some embers of my love their fire retain

    But do not let it cause you more distress-

    I do not want to sadden you again.

    Hopeless and tongue-tied, yet, I loved you dearly

    With pangs the jealous the timid know

    So tenderly I loved you, so sincerely,

    I pray God grant another love you so.

  • I Never Lost As Muchby Emily Dickinson

    I never lost as much but twice,

    And that was in the sod.

    Twice have I stood a beggar

    Before the door of God!

    Angels, twice descending,

    Reimbursed my store.

    Burglar, banker, father,

    I am poor once more!

    To a Strangerby Walt Whitman

    Passing stranger! you do not know

    How 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 surely

    Lived 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 become

  • not 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 you

    when I sit alone or wake at night, alone

    I am to wait, I do not doubt I am to meet you again

    I am to see to it that I do not lose you.

    To One in Paradiseby Edgar Allen Poe

    Thou wast that all to me, love,

    For which my soul did pine--

    A green isle in the sea, love,

    A fountain and a shrine,

    All wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers

    And all the flowers were mine.

    Ah, dream too bright to last!

    Ah, starry Hope! that didst arise

    But to be overcast!

    A voice from out the Future cries,

    On! on!-- but o'er the Past

    (Dim gulf!) my spirit hovering lies

    Mute, motionless, aghast!

    For, alas! alas! with me

  • The light of Life is o'er!

    'No more-- no more-- no more--'

    (Such language holds the solemn sea

    To the sands upon the shore)

    Shall bloom the thunder-blasted tree

    Or the stricken eagle soar!

    And all my days are trances

    And all my nightly dreams

    Are where thy dark eye glances

    And where thy footstep gleams--

    In what ethereal dances,

    By what eternal streams.

    Love And A Questionby Robert Frost

    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 lips

    For a shelter for the night,

    And he turned and looked at the road afar

    Without a window light.

    The bridegroom came forth into the porch

    With, "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 alone

    Bent over the open fire,

    Her face rose-red with the glowing coal

    And 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 gold

    And 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 asked

    To mar the love of two

    by harboring woe in the bridal house,

    The bridegroom wished he knew.

    A wounded deer leaps highestby Emily Dickinson

    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 redder

    Just where the hectic stings!

    Mirth is mail of anguish,

    In which its cautious arm

    Lest anybody spy the blood

    And, "you're hurt" exclaim

    The Lakeby Edgar Allen Poe

    In spring of youth it was my lot

    To haunt of the wide world a spot

    The which I could not love the less--

    So lovely was the loneliness,

    Of a wild lake, with black rock bound

    And the tall pines that towered around.

    But when the Night had thrown her pall

    Upon that spot, as upon all,

    And the mystic wind went by

    Murmuring in melody--

    Then- ah then I would awake

    To the terror of the lone lake.

    Yet, that terror was not fright

    But a tremulous delight--

    A feeling not the jewelled mine

    Could teach or bribe me to define--

  • Nor Love- although the Love were thine.

    Death was in that poisonous wave

    And in its gulf a fitting grave

    For him who thence could solace bring

    To his lone imagining--

    Whose solitary soul could make

    An Eden of that dim lake.

    I Singby Emily Dickinson

    I sing to use the waiting

    My bonnet but to tie,

    And close the door unto my house

    No more to do have I

    'Till his best step approaching,

    We journey to the day,

    And tell each other how we sung

    To keep the Dark away.

    Reluctanceby Robert Frost

    Out through the fields and the woods

    And over the walls I have wended;

    I have climbed the hills of view

    And 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 keeping

    To ravel them one by one

    And let them go scraping and creeping

    Out 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 treason

    To go with the drift of things,

    To yield with a grace to reason,

    And bow and accept the end

    Of a love or a season?

    My Pretty Rose Treeby William Blake

    A flower was offered to me:

    Such a flower as May never bore.

    But I said "I've a Pretty Rose-tree",

    And I passed the sweet flower o'er.

  • Then I went to my Pretty Rose-tree:

    To tend her by day and by night.

    But my Rose turn'd away with jealousy:

    And her thorns were my only delight.

    The Graveby Emily Dickinson

    The grave my little cottage is,

    Where, keeping house for thee,

    I make my parlor orderly,

    And lay the marble tea,

    For two divided, briefly,

    A cycle, it may be,

    'Till everlasting life unite

    In strong society.

    To Earthwardby Robert Frost

    Love at the lips was touch

    As 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 springs

  • Down hill at dusk?

    I had the swirl and ache

    From sprays of honeysuckle

    That when they're gathered shake

    Dew on the knuckle.

    I craved strong sweets, but those

    Seemed strong when I was young;

    The petal of the rose

    It was that stung.

    Now no joy but lacks salt

    That is not dashed with pain

    And weariness and fault;

    I crave the stain

    Of tears, the aftermark

    Of almost too much love,

    The sweet of bitter bark

    And burning clove.

    When stiff and sore and scarred

    I take away my hand

    From leaning on it hard

    In grass and sand,

    The hurt is not enough:

    I long for weight and strength

    To feel the earth as rough

    To all my length.

    Beauty and Loveby Andrew Young

  • Beauty and love are all my dream;

    They change not with the changing day;

    Love stays forever like a stream

    That flows but never flows away;

    And beauty is the bright sun-bow

    That blossoms on the spray that showers

    Where the loud water falls below,

    Making a wind among the flowers.

    Young and Oldby Charles Kingsely

    When all the world is young, lad,

    And all the trees are green

    And every goose a swan, lad,

    And every lass a queen;

    Then hey for boot and horse, lad,

    And 'round the world away

    Young blood must have its course, lad,

    And every dog his day.

    When all the world is old, lad,

    And all the trees are brown

    And all the sport is stale, lad,

    And all the wheels run down

    Creep home and take your place there

    The spent and maimed among

    God grant you find one face there

  • You loved when all was young.

    The Dreamby Edna St. Vincent Millay

    Love, if I weep it will not matter,

    And if you laugh I shall not care;

    Foolish am I to think about it,

    But it is good to feel you there.

    Love, in my sleep I dreamed of waking,

    White and awful the moonlight reached

    Over the floor, and somewhere, somewhere

    There was a shutter loose- it screeched!

    Swung in the wind- and no wind blowing-

    I was afraid and turned to you,

    Put out my hand to you for comfort-

    And you were gone! Cold as the dew,

    Under my hand the moonlight lay!

    Love, if you laugh I shall not care,

    But if I weep it will not matter-

    Ah, it is good to feel you there.

    Soon, O Ianthe!by Walter Savage Landor

    Soon, O Ianthe! life is o'er,

    And sooner beauty's heavenly smile:

  • Grant only (and I ask no more),

    Let love remain that little while.

    She Comes Notby Herbert Trench

    She comes not when Noon is on the roses--

    Too bright is Day.

    She comes not to the Soul till it reposes

    From work and play.

    But when Night is on the hills, and the great Voices

    Roll in from Sea,

    By starlight and candle-light and dreamlight

    She comes to me.

    Still to be Neatby Ben Jonson

    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.

    The Baitby John Donne

    Come live with me and be my love

    And we will some new pleasures prove

    Of golden sands and crystal brooks,

    With silken lines and silver hooks.

    There will the river- whispering run

    Warmed by thy eyes more than the sun

    And there th' enamoured fish will stay,

    Begging themselves they may betray.

    When thou wilt swim in that live bath,

    Each fish, which every channel hath,

    Will amorously to thee swim,

    Gladder to catch thee, than thou him.

    If thou, to be so seen, be'st loth,

    By sun or moon, thou darken'st both

    And if myself have leave to see,

    I need not their light, having thee.

    Let others freeze with angling reeds,

    And cut their legs with shells and weeds

    Or treacherously poor fish beset,

    With strangling snare or windowy net.

    Let coarse bold hands from slimy nest

  • The bedded fish in banks out-wrest;

    Or curious traitors, sleave-silk flies,

    Bewitch poor fishes' wand'ring eyes.

    For thee, thou need'st no such deceit,

    For thou thyself art thine own bait:

    That fish, that is not catch'd thereby,

    Alas, is wiser far than I.

    Mild Is The Parting Yearby Walter Savage Landor

    Mild is the parting year and sweet

    The odour of the falling spray;

    Life passes on more rudely fleet,

    And balmless is its closing day.

    I wait its close, I court its gloom,

    But mourn that never must there fall;

    Or on my breast or on my tomb

    The tear that would have soothed it all.

    Never Blows So Redby Omar Khayyam

    I sometimes think that never blows so red

    The rose as where some buried Caesar bled.

    That every hyacinth the garden wears;

    Dropt in her lap from some once lovely head.

  • Rose Aylmerby Walter Savage Landor

    Ah, what avails the sceptred race;

    Ah, what the form divine.

    What every virtue, every grace,

    Rose Aylmer, all were thine.

    Rose Aylmer, whom these wakeful eyes

    May weep, but never see;

    A night of memories and of sighs

    I consecrate to thee.

    The Rose of Sharonby Solomon

    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.

    The Rose in the Deeps of his Heartby William Butler Yeats

    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 blossoms

    a rose in the deeps of my heart.

    The wrong of unshapely things

    is a wrong too great to be told;

    I hunger to build them anew

    and 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 blossoms

    a rose in the deeps of my heart.

  • Ah, My Belovedby Omar Khayyam

    Ah, my beloved, fill the cup that clears

    Today of past regrets and future fears;

    Tomorrow? Why, tomorrow I may be,

    Myself, with yesterday's sev'n thousand years.

    Sonnets from the Portuguese, XIVby Elizabeth Barrett Browning

    If thou must love me, let it be for nought

    Except for love's sake only. Do not say

    'I love her for her smile--her look--her way

    Of speaking gently,--for a trick of thought

    That falls in well with mine, and certes brought

    A sense of pleasant ease on such a day

    For these things in themselves, Beloved, may

    Be changed, or change for thee,--and love, so wrought,

    May be unwrought so. Neither love me for

    Thine own dear pity's wiping my cheeks dry,

    A creature might forget to weep, who bore

    Thy comfort long, and lose thy love, thereby!

    But love me for love's sake, that evermore

    Thou mayst love on, through love's eternity.

  • A Magic Moment I Rememberby Alexander Pushkin

    A magic moment I remember:

    I raised my eyes and you were there.

    A fleeting vision, the quintessence

    Of all that's beautiful and rare.

    I pray to mute despair and anguish

    To vain pursuits the world esteems,

    Long did I near your soothing accents,

    Long did your features haunt my dreams.

    Time passed- A rebel storm-blast scattered

    The reveries that once were mine

    And I forgot your soothing accents,

    Your features gracefully divine.

    In dark days of enforced retirement

    I gazed upon grey skies above

    With no ideals to inspire me,

    No one to cry for, live for, love.

    Then came a moment of renaissance,

    I looked up- you again are there,

    A fleeting vision, the quintessence

    Of all that`s beautiful and rare.

    I Lost A Worldby Emily Dickinson

  • I lost a world the other day.

    Has anybody found?

    You?ll know it by the row of stars

    Around its forehead bound.

    A rich man might not notice it;

    Yet to my frugal eye

    Of more esteem than ducats.

    Oh, find it, Sir, for me!

    Farewell to Loveby Michael Drayton

    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.

  • Happinessby Carl Sandburg

    I asked professors who teach the meaning of life to tell me,

    what is happiness.

    And I went to famous executives who boss the work of thousands

    of men.

    They all shook their heads and gave me a smile, as though I

    was trying to fool with them.

    And then one Sunday afternoon I wandered out along the Des Plaines

    River

    And I saw a crowd of Hungarians under the trees with their

    women and children and a keg of beer and an accordion.

    The Heart Asksby Emily Dickinson

    The heart asks pleasure first

    And then, excuse from pain;

    And then those little anodynes

    That deaden suffering,

    And then to go to sleep

    And then, if it should be,

    The will of its Inquisitor

    The liberty to die!

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