Wonderful..loved this. Still nothing to meet the Irish when it comes to a love poem.
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Wonderful..loved this. Still nothing to meet the Irish when it comes to a love poem.
This is one of my favorites: By Robert 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
We know that one times one is one,
but an unicorn times a pear
have no idea what it is.
We know that five minus four is one
but a cloud minus a sailboat
have no idea what it is.
We know that eight
divided by eight is one,
but a mountain divided by a goat
have no idea what it is.
We know that one plus one is two,
but me and you, oh,
we have no idea what it is.
Oh, but a comforter
times a rabbit
is a red-headed one of course,
a cabbage divided by a flag
is a pig,
a horse minus a street-car
is an angel,
a cauliflower plus an egg
is an astragalus.
Only you and me
multiplied and divided
added and subtracted
remain the same...
Vanish from my mind!
Come back in my heart!
There´s a wonderful one, but it´s in Spanish. It´s called Cántico Espiritual, by San Juan de la Cruz.
I´ve found a very nice translation on this site, http://www.amancioprada.com/cant_i_texto.htm , there goes an extract:
Why piercedst thou this heart
And heal'dst it not upon the selfsame day?
Why usedst robbers'art
Yet leavest thus thy prey
And tak'st it not eternally away?
End thou my torments here,
Since none but thou can remedy my plight;
And to these eyes appear,
For thou art all their light
And save for thee I value not their sight.
but if any of you understands Spanish, please do read the original (http://users.ipfw.edu/JEHLE/poesia/canticoe.htm), it´s just incomparable, specially if you hear it sung by Spanish singer Amancio Prada.
Hello everyone! Just signed here. I hope to meet friends and mates here. Please do write me, i want to make acquaintance of as many people here as possible
Don’t Let Them See You Cry
Don’t let them see you cry;
Be it in good or in bad,
Whether you’re staying or starving,
Whether in pinch or punch,
Don’t let them see you cry
Laugh and smile as though you’ve lots.
Don’t let them see you cry;
Be it in sorrow or in shame,
Be it in scarcity or in plenty,
Whether in sighing or shouting,
Don’t let them see you cry;
Laugh and smile as though you’ve lots.
Don’t let them see you cry;
Be it in pain OR in pang,
Be it in downs or ups; be it
Rain or shine, don’t let them see you cry
Laugh and smile as though you’ve lots
This is my favorite love poem, it's by Elizabeth Browning - greatest love poet.
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 may'st love on, through love's eternity.
I'm fond of Catullus and his love poems concerning his amica, Lesbia. Translations are by Guy Lee.
Nulli se dicit mulier mea nubere malle
quam mihi, non si se Iuppiter ipse petat.
dicit - sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti
in uento et rapida scribere oportet aqua.
My woman says there's no one she would rather wed
Than me, not even if asked by Jove himself.
Says - but what a woman says to an eager lover
One should write on the wind and the running water.
Odi et amo. quare id faciam fortasse requiris?
nescio sed fieri sentio et excrucior.
I hate and I love. Perhaps you're asking why I do that?
I don't know, but I feel it happening, and am racked.
And a fragment, translated by Andrew Miller, probably by Sappho:
The moon has set,
and the Pleiades; it is
midnight, and time is passing;
and I lie alone.
That's a tough question. "What do you think is the best love poem?" There
are so many, and that is what I call a super-genre of poetry.
There are many sub-genres under the topic of love.
If you break it down into two smaller categories:
Love Gone Right and Love Gone Wrong.
The two can be broken down into even smaller sub-categories.
I probably have a favorite from each of them, but for just "Love" in general;
I don't particularly have a favorite out of them all.
John Millington Synges ' Is it a month' is a beautiful love poem and should be recognised for its romantic content.
When first I looked into your eyes
each breath became a thousand sighs.
My heart drummed out a thunder beat
I glowed with joy from head to feet.
The hand of love had touched my soul,
as the bell of destiny began to toll.
The tide of love began to rise,
the world was filled with summer skies.
My sodden clouds of cold and grey
glowed with gold, then wisped away.
A brilliant rainbow arched across,
as waves of love began to toss.
The air was filled with lovebird cries,
when I first looked into your eyes.
When I first looked into your eyes,
all time and space were paralyzed
And in that instant, I was shown
a universe I had never known.
I dwell there still, in Paradise,
when I look into your eyes.
You are friendly, kind and caring
Sensitive, loyal and understanding
Humorous, fun, secure and true
Always there... yes that's you.
Special, accepting, exciting and wise
Truthful and helpful, with honest blue eyes
Confiding, forgiving, cheerful and bright
Yes that's you... not one bit of spite.
You're one of a kind, different from others
Generous, charming, but not one that smothers
Optimistic, thoughtful, happy and game
But not just another... in the long chain.
Appreciative, warm and precious like gold
Our friendship won't tarnish or ever grow old
You'll always be there, I know that is true
I'll always be here... always for you.
- Written and owned by Angela Lee Hillsley
Here are two that I rate among the best;
Sonnets
VIII
And you as well must die, belovèd dust,
And all your beauty stand you in no stead;
This flawless, vital hand, this perfect head,
This body of flame and steel, before the gust
Of Death, or under his autumnal frost,
Shall be as any leaf, be no less dead
Than the first leaf that fell,–this wonder fled,
Altered, estranged, disintegrated, lost.
Nor shall my love avail you in your hour.
In spite of all my love, you will arise
Upon that day and wander down the air
Obscurely as the unattended flower,
It mattering not how beautiful you were,
Or how belovèd above all else that dies.
~Edna St. Vincent Milay
From 'Second April' 1921
THE TRIUMPH OF TIME
(abridged)
...The loves and hours of the life of a man,
They are swift and sad, being born of the sea.
Hours that rejoice and regret for a span,
Born with a man's breath, mortal as he;
Loves that are lost ere they come to birth,
Weeds of the wave, without fruit upon earth.
I lose what I long for, save what I can,
My love, my love, and no love for me!
It is not much that a man can save
On the sands of life, in the straits of time,
Who swims in sight of the great third wave
That never a swimmer shall cross or climb.
Some waif washed up with the strays and spars
That ebb-tide shows to the shore and the stars;
Weed from the water, grass from a grave,
A broken blossom, a ruined rhyme.
There will no man do for your sake, I think,
What I would have done for the least word said.
I had wrung life dry for your lips to drink,
Broken it up for your daily bread:
Body for body and blood for blood,
As the flow of the full sea risen to flood
That yearns and trembles before it sink,
I had given, and lain down for you, glad and dead.
Yea, hope at highest and all her fruit,
And time at fullest and all his dower,
I had given you surely, and life to boot,
Were we once made one for a single hour.
But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart,
Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart;
And deep in one is the bitter root,
And sweet for one is the lifelong flower.
ALGERNON CHARLES SWINBURNE
Here's To Thy Health
Here's to thy health, my bonie lass,
Gude nicht and joy be wi' thee;
I'll come nae mair to thy bower-door,
To tell thee that I lo'e thee.
O dinna think, my pretty pink,
But I can live without thee:
I vow and swear I dinna care,
How lang ye look about ye.
Thou'rt aye sae free informing me,
Thou hast nae mind to marry;
I'll be as free informing thee,
Nae time hae I to tarry:
I ken thy frien's try ilka means
Frae wedlock to delay thee;
Depending on some higher chance,
But fortune may betray thee.
I ken they scorn my low estate,
But that does never grieve me;
For I'm as free as any he;
Sma' siller will relieve me.
I'll count my health my greatest wealth,
Sae lang as I'll enjoy it;
I'll fear nae scant, I'll bode nae want,
As lang's I get employment.
But far off fowls hae feathers fair,
And, aye until ye try them,
Tho' they seem fair, still have a care;
They may prove waur than I am.
But at twal' at night, when the moon shines bright,
My dear, I'll come and see thee;
For the man that loves his mistress weel,
Nae travel makes him weary.
Rabbie
When purusing on "Poet's Corner", just now, I found this poem and thought it was great. I have long been a fan of e.e.cummings, so I really like this one:
if i believe
if i believe
in death be sure
of this
it is
because you have loved me,
moon and sunset
stars and flowers
gold creshendo and silver muting
of seatides
i trusted not,
one night
when in my fingers
drooped your shining body
when my heart
sang between your perfect
breasts
darkness and beauty of stars
was on my mouth petals danced
against my eyes
and down
the singing reaches of
my soul
spoke
the green--
greeting pale
departing irrevocable
sea
i knew thee death.
and when
i have offered up each fragrant
night,when all my days
shall have before a certain
face become
white
perfume
only,
from the ashes
then
thou wilt rise and thou
wilt come to her and brush
the mischief from her eyes and fold
her
mouth the new
flower with
thy unimaginable
wings,where dwells the breath
of all persisting stars
e.e. cummings
While verses from Elizabeth Barrett Browning's 'Sonnets from the Portuguese' have been cited several times on this thread - So far, not the following verse, which remains my personal favorite from that collection;
Go From Me
Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,
Without the sense of that which I forbore--
Thy touch upon the palm.
The widest land
Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
-Edna St. Vincent Millay's Sonnet V from 'Second April' should be included on this list as well;
V
Once more into my arid days like dew,
Like wind from an oasis, or the sound
Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,
A treacherous messenger, the thought of you
Comes to destroy me; once more I renew
Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found
Long since to be but just one other mound
Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.
And once again, and wiser in no wise,
I chase your colored phantom on the air,
And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise
And stumble pitifully on to where,
Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,
Once more I clasp,--and there is nothing there.
Edna St. Vincent Millay
Here's one stanza from a Burns' poem posted elsewhere in the forums.
Yestreen when to the trembling string
The dance gaed through the lighted ha'
To thee my fancy took its wing
I sat, but neither heard nor saw:
Though this was fair and that was braw
And yon the toast of a the town,
I sighed, and said amang them a',
'Ye are na Mary Morison.'
Good stuff:
The elegies of Sextus Propertius - find them at:
tkline.freeserve/co.uk/Prophome.htm
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
T. S. Eliot
i love the last line
(Till human voices wake us, and we drown)
Now here's a real love poem.
Now sleeps the crimson petal
By
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Now sleeps the crimson petal, now the white;
Nor waves the cypress in the palace walk;
Nor winks the gold fin in the porphyry font:
The firefly wakens: waken thou with me.
Now droops the milkwhite peacock like a ghost,
And like a ghost she glimmers on to me.
Now lies the Earth all Danae to the stars,
And all thy heart lies open unto me.
Now slides the silent meteor on, and leaves
A shining furrow, as thy thoughts in me.
Now folds the lily all her sweetness up,
And slips into the bosom of the lake:
So fold thyself, my dearest, thou, and slip
Into my bosom and be lost in me.
One of my favourite poems
THE GOOD-MORROW
by John Donne
I wonder by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved ? were we not wean'd till then ?
But suck'd on country pleasures, childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den ?
'Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.
And now good-morrow to our waking souls,
Which watch not one another out of fear ;
For love all love of other sights controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds have shown ;
Let us possess one world ; each hath one, and is one.
My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears,
And true plain hearts do in the faces rest ;
Where can we find two better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally ;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.
The verses usually clumped together as 'Lucy' by Wordsworth (although there is much debate as to whether these verses are all about the same subject or not. Nevertheless, one of the most moving love poems I've read:
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!
I travelled among unknown men
In lands beyond the sea;
Nor, England! did I know till then
What love I bore to thee.
'Tis past, that melancholy dream!
Nor will I quit thy shore
A second time; for still I seem
To love thee more and more.
Among thy mountains did I feel
The joy of my desire;
And she I cherished turned her wheel
Beside an English fire.
Thy mornings showed, thy nights concealed,
The bowers where Lucy played;
And thine too is the last green field
That Lucy's eyes surveyed.
A slumber did my spirit seal;
I had no human fears:
She seem'd a thing that could not feel
The touch of earthly years.
No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Roll'd round in earth's diurnal course,
With rocks, and stones, and trees.
THAT is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.
An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.
O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.
Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.
William Butler Yeats
You Are A Must For Me
you are a must for me, you never know
i keep your name in my mind as a nail
your eyes getting more bigger as they get bigger
you are a must for me, you never know
i am heating inside of me with you
Trees are getting ready for autumn
this city is that old Istanbul?
clouds are torn aparts in darkness
street lights are immediately flashing
over sidewalks, the smell of rain
you are a must for me, you are absent
to love is sometimes a rather disgraceful fear
man gets tired all of a sudden in an evening
captive, with living over straight razor
sometime, breaks his hands, his passion
takes out a few lives in his lifetime
whichever door he knocks sometimes
behind him, whistle of the naught silence of loneliness
a poor gramphon plays in Fatih
from ancient times a Cuma* plays
standing in the corner, i would listen non-stop
i would bring an untouched sky to you
weeks are crumbled in my hands
what shall i do, what shall i hold on, where shall i go
you are a must for me, you are absent
maybe you are blue dotted child in june
Ah noone knows you, noone knows
a ship leaks from your deserted eyes
maybe you are taking an aeroplane in Yesilkoy
wholly got wet, your hair shudder
maybe you are blind, broken, in a hurry
Bad winds are carrying away your hair
whenever i think of living a life
maybe hard in this wolves table..
without a shame, though without getting our hands dirty
whenever i think of living a life
i start with your name, with saying Silence
your secret seas are moving inside of me
No, it wont happen in other ways
you are a must for me, you never know...
attila ilhan
does anbody read this?
Entirely agree - can't beat a bit of Love's Philosophy - what a great love poem!Quote:
Originally Posted by robw
I think this is a really great love poem, I used it for my English assignment (year 12!).
Christopher Marlowe - Come Live With Me And Be My Love (The Passionate Shepherd To His Love)
Come live with me and be my Love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That hills and valleys, dale and field,
And all the craggy mountains yield.
There will we sit upon the rocks 5
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
There will I make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies, 10
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull,
Fair linèd slippers for the cold, 15
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my Love. 20
Thy silver dishes for thy meat
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall on an ivory table be
Prepared each day for thee and me.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing 25
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my Love.
Wouldn't any woman love a man who spoke of his love for her like Marlowe???
When you go - Edwin Morgan
When you go,
if you go,
And I should want to die,
there's nothing I'd be saved by
more than the time
you fell asleep in my arms
in a trust so gentle
I let the darkening room
drink up the evening, till
rest, or the new rain
lightly roused you awake.
I asked if you heard the rain in your dream
and half dreaming still you only said, I love you.
This is my favorite:
I Asked God
- John Raine -
I asked God for a flower, he gave me a bouquet
I asked God for a minute, he gave me a day
I asked God for true love, he gave me that too
I asked for an angel and he gave me you.
What do you think?
It's nice. Kind of cheezy for me, though.Quote:
Originally Posted by hockeychick8792
What kind of poems do you like then, ktd222?:confused:Quote:
Originally Posted by ktd222
There is an array of poems dealing with an array of subject matters I adore, love being one matter. I just don't like this particular one.Quote:
Originally Posted by hockeychick8792
What ever you say ktd222:thumbs_up . Do you have any specific poets you enjoy? For example I like Edgar Allen Poe (yes it may be morbid and dark at points but i love that:D ) and also I like a few of Lord Byron's poems.Quote:
Originally Posted by ktd222
I've never really "read" Lord Byron's, or Poe's work. Just the past year I've been reading a lot of Wallace Steven's work. He's a genius! Before that, the authors who's work I adored, and still adore, are Elizabeth Bishop, Emily Dickinson, E.E. Cummings(to an extent, until his works give me a headache from all the weird syntax and line rearrangements), John Berryman, etc. The list could really go on forever. I guess it's not poets more than poems I enjoy...and what I see happening in poems...and what happens to me when reading particular poems.Quote:
Originally Posted by hockeychick8792
Yeah, it is in the poems. There are a few of Emily Dickenson's poems that I like a a few I dislike. So your are right there.:idea:Quote:
Originally Posted by ktd222
Hey... you seem like a poet are you?
I can write poetry and I have been published a few times, but nothing big.
My favourite love poem - When we two parted by Lord Byron.
frost.
The rose is a rose,
And was always a rose.
But the theory now goes
That the apple's a rose,
And the pear is, and so's
The plum, I suppose.
The dear only know
What will next prove a rose.
You, of course, are a rose--
But were always a rose.
This is nice. I like how Frost moves from fact, to speculating what else can signify a rose, to reverting back to the orginal fact of what a rose is when referring to this other personQuote:
Originally Posted by lumos
Petes' radical Poetry Blog
petepoetry-bullybuster.blogspot.com
Have a look at my Radical poetry site
Cheers Petethe red
Desire
O Whistle an' I'll come to you , my girl
O Whistle an' I'll come to you , my girl
Tho' partner and parents an a' would go mad
O whistle an' I'll come to ye, my girl.
Peter Burton
Rabbie helped wi this one.
I heart Theodore Roethke.Quote:
I KNEW A WOMAN
I knew a woman, lovely in her bones,
When small birds sighed, she would sigh back at them;
Ah, when she moved, she moved more ways than one:
The shapes a bright container can contain!
Of her choice virutes only gods should speak,
Or English poets who grew up on Greek
(I'd have them sing in chorus, cheek to cheek).
How well herwishes went! She stroked my chin,
She taught me Turn, and Counter-turn and Stand;
She taught me Touch, that undulant white skin;
I nibbled meekly from her proffered hand;
She was the sickle; I, poor I, the rake,
Coming behind her for her pretty sake
(But what prodigious mowing we did make).
Love likes a gander, and adores a goose:
Her full lips pursed, the errant note to seize;
She played it quick, she played it light and loose;
My eyes, they dazzled at her flowing knees;
Her several parts could keep a pure repose,
Or one hip quiver with a mobile nose
(She moved in circles, and those circles moved).
Let seed be grass and grass turn into hay:
I'm a martyr to a motion not my own;
What's freedom for? To know eternity.
I swear she cast a shadow white as stone.
But who would count eternity in days?
These old bones live to learn her wanton ways:
(I measure time by how a body sways).
LOVE
By Pablo Neruda
Because of you, in gardens of blossoming flowers I ache from the
perfumes of spring.
I have forgotten your face, I no longer remember your hands;
how did your lips feel on mine?
Because of you, I love the white statues drowsing in the parks,
the white statues that have neither voice nor sight.
I have forgotten your voice, your happy voice; I have forgotten
your eyes.
Like a flower to its perfume, I am bound to my vague memory of
you. I live with pain that is like a wound; if you touch me, you will
do me irreparable harm.
Your caresses enfold me, like climbing vines on melancholy walls.
I have forgotten your love, yet I seem to glimpse you in every
window.
Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because
of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting
stars, falling objects.
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 5
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; 10
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, 15
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
-- I love LORD BYRON