The Best Love Poems of All Time

[David J]

What about Whitman's Song of Myself?

[poeboy]

" 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...." Sigh!
One of my favorite poems of all time.

[Demona]

One of my favourite abstracts about love would be by Demon in Lermontov's poem - The Demon.
I have found the English version of it and i shall post the beginning...but i must say that it isn't even as near good as the original....
but...here goes:

Demon

By the first day of the creation
And by its latest day I swear,
By God's law and its violation
The triumph of eternal truth,
The bitter shame of sin I bear;
By the brief glory of this dream
I swear, and by our meeting here
And by the threat of separation;
I swear by all the spirit hosts
Whom Fate has set at my command,
On swords divine I take my oath
As wielded by my enemies
The impassive, sleepless angel band;
I swear by you, your life, your death,
Your last, long look and your first tear,
The gentle drawing of your breath,
The silken torrents of your hair;
I swear by suffering and bliss,
I swear even by this love of ours,-
I have renounced all vengefulness
I have renounced the pride of years;

etc....it's pretty long...

[zerotule]

george gascoigne- ?1525-1577
also these poems=
"the strange passion of lover",
"the crystal glass and the glass of steel",


"a lover`s lullaby"

sing lullaby, as women do,
wherewith they bring their babies to
rest;
and lullaby can i sing to
as womanly as can the best
with lullaby they still the child
and, if i be not much beguiled,
full many a wanton babe have i,
which must be stilled with lullaby.

first, lullaby my youthfull years!
it is now time to go to bed,
for crooked age and hoary hairs
have won the haven within my head.
with lullaby then, youth, be still,
with lullaby content thy will.
since courage quails and comes behind,
go sleep, and so beguile thy mind!

next, lullaby my gazing eyes,
which wonted were to glance aspace,
for every glass may now suffice
to show the furrows in my face!
with lullaby then wink a while;
with lulaby yours looks beguile;
let no fair face, nor beauty bright,
entice you eft with vain delight.

and lullaby my wanton will!
let reason`s rule now rein thy thought;
since all too late i find my skill
how dear i have thy fancies bought,
with lullaby now take thine ease,
with lullaby thy doubts appease,
for trust to this, if thou be still
my body shall obey thy will.

Eke lullaby my loving boy-
my little robin, take thy rest!
since age is cold and nothing coy,
keep close thy coin, for so is best.
with lullaby be thou content,
with lullaby thy lusts relent!
let others pay which have more pence;
thou are too poor for such expense.

thus lullaby my youth, mine eyes,
my will, my ware, and all thet was!
i can no more delays devise;
but welcome pain, let pleasure pass!
with lulaby now take your leave,
with lullaby your dreams deceive,
and when you rise with waking eye,
remember then this lullaby.

Hundredth Sundry Flowers, about 1572
from a small leatherbound book called [the biblots/an elizabethan garland].
jm

[zerotule]

by John Greenleaf Whittier

just a bit from this long poem-story


http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb....xtra/mogg.html



There’s a sudden light in the Indian’s glance,
A moment’s trace of powerful feeling –
Of love or triumph, or both perchance,
Over his proud, calm features stealing.
‘The words of my father are very good —
He shall have the land, and water, and wood,
And he who harms the Sagamore John
Shall feel the knife of MOGG MEGONE –
But the fawn of the Yengeese shall sleep on my breast,
And the bird of the clearing shall sing in my nest.’

‘But, father!’ and the Indian’s hand
Falls gently on the white man’s arm,
And, with a smile as shrewdly bland
As the deep voice is slow and calm:
‘Where is my father’s singing-bird –
The sunny eye and sunset hair?
I know I have my father’s word,
And that his word is good and fair;
But, will my father tell me where
Megone shall go and look for his bride? –
For he sees her not by her father’s side.’

The dark, stern eye of Bonython
Flashes over the features of MOGG MEGONE,
In one of those glances which search within –
But the stolid calm of the Indian alone
Remains where the trace of emotion had been.
‘Does the Sachem doubt? Let him go with me,
And the eyes of the Sachem his bride shall see.’

Cautious and slow, with pauses oft,
And watchful eyes and whispers soft,
The twain are stealing through the wood,
Leaving the downward-rushing flood,
Whose deep and hollow roar behind,
Grows fainter on the evening wind.

A cottage hidden in the wood –
Red through its seams a light is glowing,
On rock and bough and tree-trunk rude,
A narrow lustre throwing.
‘Who’s there?’ a clear, firm voice demands –
‘Hold, Ruth – ‘t is I – the Sagamore!’
Quick, at the summons, hasty hands
Unclose the bolted door;
And on the outlaw’s daughter shine
The flashes of the kindled pine.

Tall and erect the maiden stands,
Like some young priestess of the wood,
Some creature born of Solitude,
And bearing still the wild and rude,
Yet noble trace of Nature’s hands –
Her dark-brown cheek has caught its stain
More from the sunshine than the rain;
Yet, where her long fair hair is parting,
A pure white brow into light is starting;
And, where the folds of her mantle sever,
Are a neck and bosom as white as ever
The foam-wreaths rise on the leaping river.
But, in the convulsive quiver and grip
Of the muscles around her bloodless lip,
There is something painful and sad to see’
And her eye has a glance more sternly wild
Than even that of a forest-child,
In it fearless and untamed freedom should be.

Oh! seldom, in hall or court, are seen
So queenly a form and so noble a mien,
As freely and smiling she welcomes them there –
Her outlawed sire and MOGG MEGONE;
‘Pray, father, how does thy hunting fare?
And, Sachem, say – does Scamman wear,
In spite of thy promise, a scalp of his own?’
Careless and light is the maiden’s tone;
But a fearful meaning lurks within
Her glance, as it questions the eye of Megone --
An awful meaning of guilt and sin! –
The Indian hath opened his blanket, and there
Hangs a human scalp by its long damp hair!

Now, God have mercy! – that maiden’s fingers
Are touching the scalp where the blood still lingers –
Turning up to the light its soft brown hair!
What an evil triumph her eye reveals!
What a baleful smile on her pale face steals –
Is the soul of a fiend in a form so fair?
Nay – traces of feeling are visible now,
In that quivering lip and that writhing brow!
But who shall measure the thoughts within,
Of hatred and love, of passion and sin?
Does not the eye of her mind go back
On the gloom and guilt of her stormy track? –
The traitor’s lip by her kisses met –
The traitor’s hand by her fine tears wet –
The trustless hopes on his promise built –
The gust of passion – the hell of guilt!
The warm embrace, when her tresses fair
Mingled themselves with that scalp’s brown hair –
And idly and fondly her small hand played
In dalliance sweet with its light and shade!
And, what are those tears which her wild eyes dim,
But tears of sorrow and love for him? –
For him, who drugged her cup with shame –
With a curse for her heart, and a blight for her name?
For him, whom her vengeance hath tracked so long,
Feeding its torch with the thought of wrong?

[Helga]

I have to say that one of my favourite love poems is Anabel Lee by Edgar Alan Poe it starts like this:

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.


It's very sad and very beutyful, if you haven't read it you should.

[nothingman87]

There's a simple answer to this inquiry:
DANTE
Also, believe it or not my favorite romantic poet is Mr. Edgar Allan Poe. Try, Annabel Lee and Serenade.

[Isagel]

Rainer Maria Rilke:
"A good marriage is that in which each appoints the other guardian of his solitude. Once the realisation is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue to exist, a wonderful living side by side can grow up, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole and against a wide sky. Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other."

[verybaddmom]

I know that John Donne has been mentioned with regards to "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning" but do not forget "Sonne Rising". nothing quite like making the bed of love the center of the world...

[hal9000]

Originally posted by Isagel
Rainer Maria Rilke:
"A good marriage is that in which each appoints the other guardian of his solitude. Once the realisation is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue to exist, a wonderful living side by side can grow up, if they succeed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see the other whole and against a wide sky. Love consists in this, that two solitudes protect and touch and greet each other."

Thanks for this; it's well worth saving and remembering.

[Isagel]

I´m glad that you liked it.

Gibran wrote something similar in The Prophet, I thought you might like it:

Marriage



Then Almitra spoke again and said, "And what of Marriage, master?"

And he answered saying:

You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

Love one another but make not a bond of love:

Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup.

Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping.

For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

And stand together, yet not too near together:

For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow.

[hal9000]

Very nice. Gibran's, The Prophet, was very popular sometime back.

In other words, (and not to make light of the insight and romantic imagery) don't buy matching jogging suits.

[Isagel]

I´m a bit ambivalent towards the The Prophet. It´s is beautifully written, but some of the ideas I´m not sure I like at all. But this part I really do like.

(Mmm - I wonder - is it OK to read the same books? :-) )

[kilted exile]

Love me not for comely grace


LOVE not me for comely grace,
For my pleasing eye or face,
Nor for any outward part,
No, nor for my constant heart,—
For those may fail, or turn to ill, 5
So thou and I shall sever:
Keep therefore a true woman's eye,
And love me still, but know not why—
So hast thou the same reason still
To doat upon me ever! 10

[Miranda]

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediment.Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:-

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's 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 ev'n to the edge of doom:-

If this be error, and upon me proved
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

W Shakespeare