Poem of the day
Categories
Poetry Hubs
Explore
You can also search by theme, metrics, form
and more.
Poems
Poets
Page 68 of 190
Previous
Next
Eyes: A Fragment.
How eloquent are eyes!Not the rapt poet's frenzied layWhen the soul's wildest feelings strayCan speak so well as they.How eloquent are eyes!Not music's most impassioned noteOn which Love's warmest fervours floatLike them bids rapture rise.Love, look thus again, -That your look may light a waste of years,Darting the beam that conquers caresThrough the cold shower of tears.Love, look thus again!
Percy Bysshe Shelley
Sonnet: - IX.
Another day of rest, and I sit hereAmong the trees, green mounds, and leaves as sereAs my own blasted hopes. There was a timeWhen Love and perfect Happiness did chimeLike two sweet sounds upon this blessed day;But one has flown forever, far awayFrom this poor Earth's unsatisfied desiresTo love eternal, and the sacred firesWith which the other lighted up my mindHave faded out and left no trace behind,But dust and bitter ashes. Like a barkBecalmed, I anchor through the midnight dark,Still hoping for another dawn of Love.Bring back my olive branch of Happiness, O dove!
Charles Sangster
Reciprocity
Her mother, Elfie older grown, One evening, for adieu, Said, "You'll not mind being left alone, For God takes care of you!" In child-way her heart's eye did see The correlation's node: "Yes," she said, "God takes care o' me, An' I take care o' God." The child and woman were the same, She changed not, only grew; 'Twixt God and her no shadow came: The true is always true! As daughter, sister, promised wife, Her heart with love did brim: Now, sure, it brims as full of life, Hid fourteen years in him!1892.
George MacDonald
An Easter Flower Gift
O dearest bloom the seasons know,Flowers of the Resurrection blow,Our hope and faith restore;And through the bitterness of deathAnd loss and sorrow, breathe a breathOf life forevermore!The thought of Love Immortal blendsWith fond remembrances of friends;In you, O sacred flowers,By human love made doubly sweet,The heavenly and the earthly meet,The heart of Christ and ours
John Greenleaf Whittier
Woman.
Ah, woman!--in this world of ours, What boon can be compared to thee?--How slow would drag life's weary hours,Though man's proud brow were bound with flowers, And his the wealth of land and sea,If destined to exist alone,And ne'er call woman's heart his own!My mother!--At that holy name, Within my bosom there's a gushOf feeling, which no time can tame--A feeling, which, for years of fame, I would not, could not, crush!And sisters!--ye are dear as life;But when I look upon my wife, My heart-blood gives a sudden rush,And all my fond affections blendIn mother--sisters--wife and friend!Yes, woman's love is free from guile, And pure as bright Aurora's ray;The heart will melt before her smile, ...
George Pope Morris
To Laura In Death. Sonnet XXI.
L' alma mia fiamma oltra le belle bella.HE ACKNOWLEDGES THE WISDOM OF HER PAST COLDNESS TO HIM. My noble flame--more fair than fairest areWhom kind Heaven here has e'er in favour shown--Before her time, alas for me! has flownTo her celestial home and parent star.I seem but now to wake; wherein a barShe placed on passion 'twas for good alone,As, with a gentle coldness all her own,She waged with my hot wishes virtuous war.My thanks on her for such wise care I press,That with her lovely face and sweet disdainShe check'd my love and taught me peace to gain.O graceful artifice! deserved success!I with my fond verse, with her bright eyes she,Glory in her, she virtue got in me.MACGREGOR.
Francesco Petrarca
Ill Omens.
When daylight was yet sleeping under the billow, And stars in the heavens still lingering shone.Young Kitty, all blushing, rose up from her pillow, The last time she e'er was to press it alone.For the youth! whom she treasured her heart and her soul in, Had promised to link the last tie before noon;And when once the young heart of a maiden is stolen The maiden herself will steal after it soon.As she looked in the glass, which a woman ne'er misses. Nor ever wants time for a sly glance or two,A butterfly,[1] fresh from the night-flower's kisses. Flew over the mirror, and shaded her view.Enraged with the insect for hiding her graces, She brushed him--he fell, alas; never to rise:"Ah! such," said the girl...
Thomas Moore
To Helen
Helen, thy beauty is to meLike those Nicean barks of yore,That gently, o'er a perfumed sea,The weary, wayworn wanderer boreTo his own native shore.On desperate seas long wont to roam,Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face,Thy Naiad airs have brought me homeTo the glory that was GreeceAnd the grandeur that was Rome.Lo! in yon brilliant window-nicheHow statue-like I see thee stand,The agate lamp within thy hand!Ah, Psyche, from the regions whichAre Holy Land!
Edgar Allan Poe
Sonnet CLXV.
L' aura soave ch' al sol spiega e vibra.HIS HEART LIES TANGLED IN HER HAIR. The pleasant gale, that to the sun unplaitsAnd spreads the gold Love's fingers weave, and braidO'er her fine eyes, and all around her head,Fetters my heart, the wishful sigh creates:No nerve but thrills, no artery but beats,Approaching my fair arbiter with dread,Who in her doubtful scale hath ofttimes weigh'dWhether or death or life on me awaits;Beholding, too, those eyes their fires display,And on those shoulders shine such wreaths of hair,Whose witching tangles my poor heart ensnare.But how this magic's wrought I cannot say;For twofold radiance doth my reason blind,And sweetness to excess palls and o'erpowers my mind.NOTT....
Song of Kuno Kohn's Longing
The folds of the sea crash like whips on my skin.And the stars of the sea tear me apart.The evening of the sea is one of screaming wounds for the lonely,But lovers find the good death of their day dreams...Be there soon, you with pain in your eye, the sea hurts.Be there soon, you who suffer in love, the sea is killing me.Your hands are cool saints. Cover me with them,The sea is burning on me.But why don't you help me! But help!... Cover me. Save me.Cure me, friend and woman.Mother... you -
Alfred Lichtenstein
Face To Face.
Dead! and all the haughty fateFair on throat and face of wax,White, calm hands crossed still and lax,Cold, impassionate!Dead! and no word whispered lowAt the dull ear now could wakeOne responsive chord or makeOne wan temple glow.Dead! and no hot tear would stirAll that woman sweet and fair,Woman soul from feet to hairWhich was once of her.God! and thus to die! and I -I must live though life be butOne long, hard, monotonous rut,There to plod and - die!Creeds are well in such a case;But no sermon could have wroughtMore of faith than you have taughtWith your pale, dead face.And I see it as you see -One mistake, so very small!Yet so great it mangled all,Left you this and me!
Madison Julius Cawein
The Lover's Invitation
Now the wheat is in the ear, and the rose is on the brere,And bluecaps so divinely blue, with poppies of bright scarlet hue,Maiden, at the close o' eve, wilt thou, dear, thy cottage leave,And walk with one that loves thee?When the even's tiny tears bead upon the grassy spears,And the spider's lace is wet with its pinhead blebs of dew,Wilt thou lay thy work aside and walk by brooklets dim descried,Where I delight to love thee?While thy footfall lightly press'd tramples by the skylark's nest,And the cockle's streaky eyes mark the snug place where it lies,Mary, put thy work away, and walk at dewy close o' dayWith me to kiss and love thee.There's something in the time so sweet, when lovers in the evening meet,The air so still, the sky so mild, like...
John Clare
The Sonnets Of Tommaso Campanella - Ideal Love.
Il vero amante.He who loves truly, grows in force and might; For beauty and the image of his love Expand his spirit: whence he burns to prove Adventures high, and holds all perils light.If thus a lady's love dilate the knight, What glories and what joy all joys above Shall not the heavenly splendour, joined by love Unto our flesh-imprisoned soul, excite?Once freed, she would become one sphere immense Of love, power, wisdom, filled with Deity, Elate with wonders of the eternal Sense.But we like sheep and wolves war ceaselessly: That love we never seek, that light intense, Which would exalt us to infinity.
Michelangelo di Lodovico Buonarroti Simoni
Sonnet CXXX.
Amor, che vedi ogni pensiero aperto.HE CARES NOT FOR SUFFERINGS, SO THAT HE DISPLEASE NOT LAURA. Love, thou who seest each secret thought display'd,And the sad steps I take, with thee sole guide;This throbbing breast, to thee thrown open wide,To others' prying barr'd, thine eyes pervade.Thou know'st what efforts, following thee, I made,While still from height to height thy pinions glide;Nor deign'st one pitying look to turn asideOn him who, fainting, treads a trackless glade.I mark from far the mildly-beaming rayTo which thou goad'st me through the devious maze;Alas! I want thy wings, to speed my way--Henceforth, a distant homager, I'll gaze,Content by silent longings to decay,So that my sighs for her in her no anger raise...
The Song of the Brook.
Oh, what would you have, you splendid sun, With your restless eyes of fire?And why do you lean o'er the lilies pale? What more can your heart desire?You've crimsoned the rays in the heart of the rose, You've drunk up the dewdrops all;And down in the meadows your golden light Has gilded the daisies tall.The thirsty flowers that grow on the hill Have given their lives to you;And what do you care, you restless sun, As you sail through your seas of blue?Your rays are so warm, like the glances of love, The lily is mad with delight;And whispers her secret with silent joy, As she kisses my face in the night.What more can you want, O eager sun? I've given my all to you;I've counted my treas...
Fannie Isabelle Sherrick
In Vita. Canzone XI.
O waters fresh and sweet and clear,Where bathed her lovely frame,Who seems the only lady unto me;O gentle branch and dear,(Sighing I speak thy name,)Thou column for her shapely thighs, her supple knee;O grass, O flowers, which sheSwept with her gown that veiledThe angelic breast unseen;O sacred air serene,Whence the divine-eyed Love my heart assailed,By all of ye be heardThis my supreme lament, my dying word.Oh, if it be my fate(As Heaven shall so decree)That Love shall close for me my weeping eyes,Some courteous friend I supplicateMidst these to bury me,Whilst my enfranchised spirit homeward flies;Less dreadful death shall rise,If I may bear this hopeTo that mysterious goal.For ne'er did weary so...
Emma Lazarus
Lucy I
Strange fits of passion have I known:And I will dare to tell,But in the lovers ear alone,What once to me befell.When she I loved lookd every dayFresh as a rose in June,I to her cottage bent my way,Beneath an evening moon.Upon the moon I fixd my eye,All over the wide lea;With quickening pace my horse drew nighThose paths so dear to me.And now we reachd the orchard-plot;And, as we climbd the hill,The sinking moon to Lucys cotCame near and nearer still.In one of those sweet dreams I slept,Kind Natures gentlest boon!And all the while my eyes I keptOn the descending moon.My horse moved on; hoof after hoofHe raised, and never stoppd:When down behind the cottage roof,At on...
William Wordsworth
Love Lies Bleeding.
Love that is dead and buried, yesterdayOut of his grave rose up before my face,No recognition in his look, no traceOf memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey.While I, remembering, found no word to say,But felt my quickened heart leap in its place;Caught afterglow thrown back from long set days,Caught echoes of all music passed away.Was this indeed to meet? - I mind me yetIn youth we met when hope and love were quick,We parted with hope dead, but love alive:I mind me how we parted then heart sick,Remembering, loving, hopeless, weak to strive: -Was this to meet? Not so, we have not met.
Christina Georgina Rossetti