Poems begining by L
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Love's Language
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
How does Love speak?
In the faint flush upon the tell-tale cheek,
And in the pallor that succeeds it; by
The quivering lid of an averted eye
The smile that proves the parent to a sigh
Thus doth Love speak.
Love's Coming
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
She had looked for his coming as warriors come,
With the clash of arms and the bugle's call;
But he came instead with a stealthy tread,
Which she did not hear at all.
Life Is A Privilege
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Life is a privilege. Its youthful days
Shine with the radiance of continuous Mays.
To live, to breathe, to wonder and desire,
To feed with dreams the hearts perpetual fire,
Life
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
All in the dark we grope along,
And if we go amiss
We learn at least which path is wrong,
And there is gain in this.
Lost
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
You left me with the autumn time;
When the winter stripped the forest bare,
Then dressed it in his spotless rime;
When frosts were lurking in the air
You left me here and went away.
The winds were cold; you could not stay.
Life's Scars
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
They say the world is round, and yet
I often think it square,
So many little hurts we get
From corners here and there.
Love
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The longer I live and the more I see
Of the struggle of souls towards the heights above,
The stronger this truth comes home to me---
That the Universe rests on the shoulders of love,
A love so limitless, deep, and broad,
That men have re-named it, and called it God.
Last Love
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
The first flower of the spring is not so fair
Or bright, as one the ripe midsummer brings.
The first faint note the forest warbler sings
Is not as rich with feeling, or so rare
Love Much
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Love much. Earth has enough of bitter in it.
Cast sweets into its cup wheneer you can.
No heart so hard, but love at last may win it.
Love is the great primæval cause of man.
All hate is foreign to the first great plan.
Love is Enough
© Wilcox Ella Wheeler
Love is enough. Let us not ask for gold.
Wealth breeds false aims, and pride and selfishness;
In those serene, Arcadian days of old
Men gave no thought to princely homes and dress.
Let Me Die a Youngman's Death
© Roger McGough
Let me die a youngman's death
not a clean and inbetween
the sheets holywater death
not a famous-last-words
peaceful out of breath death
Love
© George William Russell
ERE I lose myself in the vastness and drowse myself with the peace,
While I gaze on the light and the beauty afar from the dim homes of men,
May I still feel the heart-pang and pity, love-ties that I would not release;
May the voices of sorrow appealing call me back to their succour again.
Light and Dark
© George William Russell
NOT the soul thats whitest
Wakens love the sweetest:
When the heart is lightest
Oft the charm is fleetest.
Lenten Thoughts of a High Anglican
© John Betjeman
Isn't she lovely, "the Mistress"?
With her wide-apart grey-green eyes,
The droop of her lips and, when she smiles,
Her glance of amused surprise?
Loneliness
© John Betjeman
The last year's leaves are on the beech:
The twigs are black; the cold is dry;
To deeps byond the deepest reach
The Easter bells enlarge the sky.
Long For This World
© Sophie Hannah
I settle for less than snow,
try to go gracefully like seasons gowhich will regain their ground -
ditch, hill and field - when a new year comes round.Now I know everything:
how winter leaves without resenting spring,lives in a safe time frame,
Leaving and Leaving You
© Sophie Hannah
When I leave you postcode and your commuting station,
When I left undone all the things we planned to do
You may feel you have been left by association
But there is leaving and leaving you.
Le Manteau De Pascal
© Jorie Graham
I have put on my great coat it is cold.It is an outer garment.Coarse, woolen.Of unknown origin. *It has a fine inner lining but it is
as an exterior that you see it a grace. *I have a coat I am wearing. It is a fine admixture.
The woman who threw the threads in the two directions
has made, skillfully, something dark-true,
Love's Usury
© John Donne
For every hour that thou wilt spare me now
I will allow,
Usurious God of Love, twenty to thee,
When with my brown my gray hairs equal be;
Love's Deity
© John Donne
I long to talk with some old lover's ghost,
Who died before the God of Love was born:
I cannot think that he, who then loved most,
Sunk so low as to love one which did scorn.
