The Best Love Poems of All Time

i think this is a love poem in a universal sense. certainly a favorite of mine, perhaps love enough. :)



Never Again Would Bird's Song Be the Same


He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds' song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.

Robert Frost

i love you much(most beautiful darling)
by: e.e. cummings
.................................................. ..........
i love you much(most beautiful darling)

more than anyone on the earth and i
like you better than everything in the sky

-sunlight and singing welcome your coming

First Love ...title should read, John Clare


I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet.
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And 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 ail
My life and all seemed turned to clay.

And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away.
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed 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.

Are flowers the winter's choice
Is love's bed always snow
She seemed to hear my silent voice
Not love appeals to know.

I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling place
And can return no more.


- John Clare

Some Kiss

There is some kiss we want with our whole lives:
the touch of the spirit on the body.

Seawater begs the pearl to break its shell
and the lily, how passionately it needs some wild darling.

At night I open the window
and I ask the moon to come and press its face against mine,
breathe into me.

Close the language door and open the love window.
The moon won't use the door, only the window.

Rumi

This thread's great. Still working my way through it. In the meantime, here's another contribution from me by Carl Sandburg:

The Great Hunt

I cannot tell you now;
When the wind's drive and whirl
Blow me along no longer,
And the wind's a whisper at last-
Maybe I'll tell you then-
some other time.

When the rose's flash to the sunset
Reels to the rack and the twist,
And the rose is a red bygone,
When the face I love is going
And the gate the end shall clang,
And it's no use to beckon or say, " So long"-
Maybe I'll tell you then-
some other time.

I never knew any more beautiful than you:
I have hunted you under my thoughts,
I have broken down under the wind
And into the roses looking for you.
I shall never find any
greater than you.

A TRUE LOVE

WHAT sweet relief the showers to thirsty plants we see,
What dear delight the blooms to bees, my true Love is to me!
As fresha dn lusty Ver* foul winter doth exceed, [Spring]
As morning bright, with scarlet sky, doth pass the evening's weed*, [garment]
As mellow pears above the crabs* esteemed be,-- [crabapples]
So doth my Love surmount them all, whom yet I hap to see.
The oak shall olives bear, the lamb the lion fray*, [frighten]
The owl shall match the nightingale in tuning of her lay,
Or I my Love let slip out of mine entire heart,
So deep reposed in my breast is she for her desert.
For many blessed gifts, O happy, happy land!
Where Mars and Pallas strive to make their glory most to stand!
Yet, land, more is thy bliss, that, in this cruel age,
A Venus' imp thou hast brought forth, so steadfast and so sage:
Among the Muses nine, a tenth if Jove would make,
And to the Graces three, so fourth her would Apollo take.
Let some for honour hunt, and hoard the massy gold;
With her so may I live and die, my weal can not be told.

Nicholas Grimald

Sullivan Ballou's Letter to his Wife




July the 14th, 1861

Washington DC



My very dear Sarah:



The indications are very strong that we shall move in a few days - perhaps tomorrow. Lest I should not be able to write you again, I feel impelled to write lines that may fall under your eye when I shall be no more.



Our movement may be one of a few days duration and full of pleasure - and it may be one of severe conflict and death to me. Not my will, but thine 0 God, be done. If it is necessary that I should fall on the battlefield for my country, I am ready. I have no misgivings about, or lack of confidence in, the cause in which I am engaged, and my courage does not halt or falter. I know how strongly American Civilization now leans upon the triumph of the Government, and how great a debt we owe to those who went before us through the blood and suffering of the Revolution. And I am willing - perfectly willing - to lay down all my joys in this life, to help maintain this Government, and to pay that debt.



But, my dear wife, when I know that with my own joys I lay down nearly all of yours, and replace them in this life with cares and sorrows - when, after having eaten for long years the bitter fruit of orphanage myself, I must offer it as their only sustenance to my dear little children - is it weak or dishonorable, while the banner of my purpose floats calmly and proudly in the breeze, that my unbounded love for you, my darling wife and children, should struggle in fierce, though useless, contest with my love of country?



I cannot describe to you my feelings on this calm summer night, when two thousand men are sleeping around me, many of them enjoying the last, perhaps, before that of death -- and I, suspicious that Death is creeping behind me with his fatal dart, am communing with God, my country, and thee.



I have sought most closely and diligently, and often in my breast, for a wrong motive in thus hazarding the happiness of those I loved and I could not find one. A pure love of my country and of the principles have often advocated before the people and "the name of honor that I love more than I fear death" have called upon me, and I have obeyed.



Sarah, my love for you is deathless, it seems to bind me to you with mighty cables that nothing but Omnipotence could break; and yet my love of Country comes over me like a strong wind and bears me irresistibly on with all these chains to the battlefield.



The memories of the blissful moments I have spent with you come creeping over me, and I feel most gratified to God and to you that I have enjoyed them so long. And hard it is for me to give them up and burn to ashes the hopes of future years, when God willing, we might still have lived and loved together and seen our sons grow up to honorable manhood around us. I have, I know, but few and small claims upon Divine Providence, but something whispers to me - perhaps it is the wafted prayer of my little Edgar -- that I shall return to my loved ones unharmed. If I do not, my dear Sarah, never forget how much I love you, and when my last breath escapes me on the battlefield, it will whisper your name.



Forgive my many faults, and the many pains I have caused you. How thoughtless and foolish I have oftentimes been! How gladly would I wash out with my tears every little spot upon your happiness, and struggle with all the misfortune of this world, to shield you and my children from harm. But I cannot. I must watch you from the spirit land and hover near you, while you buffet the storms with your precious little freight, and wait with sad patience till we meet to part no more.



But, O Sarah! If the dead can come back to this earth and flit unseen around those they loved, I shall always be near you; in the garish day and in the darkest night -- amidst your happiest scenes and gloomiest hours - always, always; and if there be a soft breeze upon your cheek, it shall be my breath; or the cool air fans your throbbing temple, it shall be my spirit passing by.



Sarah, do not mourn me dead; think I am gone and wait for thee, for we shall meet again.



As for my little boys, they will grow as I have done, and never know a father's love and care. Little Willie is too young to remember me long, and my blue eyed Edgar will keep my frolics with him among the dimmest memories of his childhood. Sarah, I have unlimited confidence in your maternal care and your development of their characters. Tell my two mothers his and hers I call God's blessing upon them. O Sarah, I wait for you there! Come to me, and lead thither my children.



Sullivan

LOVE SONG FOR ALEX, 1979

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 dozens
the honeyed kiss, the lips of wine and fire
fade blissfully into the distant years of yonder
but all my days of Happiness and wonder
are cradled in his arms and eyes entire.
{unfortunately, an excerpt from this love poem by contemporary poet, Margaret Walker}

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by quasimodo1

LOVE SONG FOR ALEX, 1979

My monkey-wrench man is my sweet patootie;

---

I love that first line!!

"the children of my flesh are his and bear his rage"

Powerful words! Great!

MORE STRONG THAN TIME
Since I have set my lips to your full cup, my sweet,
Since I my pallid face between your hands have laid,
Since I have known your soul, and all the bloom of it,
And all the perfume rare, now buried in the shade;

Since it was given to me to hear on happy while,
The words wherein your heart spoke all its mysteries,
Since I have seen you weep, and since I have seen you smile,
Your lips upon my lips, and your eyes upon my eyes;

Since I have known above my forehead glance and gleam,
A ray, a single ray, of your star, veiled always,
Since I have felt the fall, upon my lifetime's stream,
Of one rose petal plucked from the roses of your days;

I now am bold to say to the swift changing hours,
Pass, pass upon your way, for I grow never old,
Fleet to the dark abysm with all your fading flowers,
One rose that none may pluck, within my heart I hold.

Your flying wings may smite, but they can never spill
The cup fulfilled of love, from which my lips are wet;
My heart has far more fire than you can frost to chill,
My soul more love than you can make my soul forget

She Walks In Beauty


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!

- Lord Byron

I was going to post Pablo Neruda's poem but I see Brigitte added it back in June. Still a lot of catching up to do so if these are repeated, my apologies.
Two of my favourite love poems

'Leo Marks'
The Love That I Have

The life that I have is all that I have, The life that I have is yours.
The love that I have of the life that I have Is yours and yours and yours.
A sleep I shall have, A rest I shall have Yet death will be but a pause.
For the peace of my years In the long green grass Will be yours and yours and yours

<<<<>>>>

Somewhere There Waiteth
Sir Edwin Arnold

Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours
For one lone soul another lonely soul,
Each choosing each through all the weary hours,
And meeting strangely at one sudden goal,
Then blend they, like green leaves with golden flowers,
Into one beautiful and perfect whole;
And life's long night is ended, and the way
Lies open onward to eternal day.

I love you
You don't love me
I'll get over it
>.<

ELEGY FOR MARIE
So that our age and ages yet unsung
May know how well we loved when we were young,
And that your loveliness, my long delight,
Shall not forever vanish into night
And leave behind no trace upon the earth,
I pledge you all my mettle, all my worth,
Wit of my wit, which life to you shall give
Long time or never, as these lines shall live.
All who shall read the songs I sang for you,
With bitterness or sweetness threaded through
According as you dealt me joy or tears,
Shall call you goddess, and the more the years
Fly past, the more your perfect loveliness
Shall age defy, green in its timelessness…
{Beginning of this poem}

Shakespeare's Sonnet XVII:

Who will believe my verse in time to come,
If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?
Though yet heaven knows it is but as a tomb
Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.
If I could write the beauty of your eyes,
And in fresh numbers number all your graces,
The age to come would say 'This poet lies;
Such heavenly touches ne'er touch'd earthly faces.
So should my papers yellow'd with their age
Be scorn'd like old men of less truth than tongue,
And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage
And stretched metre of an antique song:
But were some child of yours alive that time,
You should live twice; in it and in my rhyme.

HOUSES OF DREAMS
You took my empty dreams
And filled them every one
With tenderness and nobleness,
April and the sun.

The old empty dreams
Where my thoughts would throng
Are far too full of happiness
To even hold a song.

Oh, the empty dreams were dim
And the empty dreams were wide,
They were sweet and shadowy houses
Where my thoughts could hide. ............
{first three stanzas of this poem by Sara Teasdale}

Upon my couch at night
I sought the one I love -
I sought, but found him not.
'I must rise and roam the town,
Through the streets and through the squares;
I must seek the one I love.'
I sought, but found him not.
I met the watchmen
Who patrol the town.
'Have you seen the one I love?'
Scarcely had I passed them
When I found the one I love.
I held him fast, I would not let him go
Till I brought him to my mother's house,
To the chamber of her who conceived me.

Old Testament