Love poems
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The Garden
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
My life! Ah, yes, there was my life, indeed!
And there were all the lives of humankind;
And they were like a book that I could read,
Whose every leaf, miraculously signed,
Outrolled itself from Thoughts eternal seed.
Love-rooted in Gods garden of the mind.
The Tree In Pamela's Garden
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Pamela was too gentle to deceive
Her roses. "Let the men stay where they are,"
She said, "and if Apollo's avatar
Be one of them, I shall not have to grieve."
The Story Of The Ashes And The Flame
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
There she was always coming pretty soon
To fool him back, with penitent scared eyes
That had in them the laughter of the moon
For baffled lovers, and to make him think
Before she gave him time enough to wink
Her kisses were the keys to Paradise.
Firelight
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Wiser for silence, they were not so glad
Were she to read the graven tale of lines
On the wan face of one somewhere alone;
Nor were they more content could he have had
Her thoughts a moment since of one who shines
Apart, and would be hers if he had known.
Miniver Cheevy
© Edwin Arlington Robinson
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born,
And he had reasons.
An Elegy On The Glory Of Her Sex, Mrs Mary Blaize
© Oliver Goldsmith
Good people all, with one accord
Lament for Madam Blaize,
Who never wanted a good word,
From those who spoke her praise.
When Lovely Woman Stoops To Folly
© Oliver Goldsmith
When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?
The Deserted Village
© Oliver Goldsmith
Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,
Where wealth accumulates, and men decay:
Princes and lords may flourish, or may fade;
A breath can make them, as a breath has made;
But a bold peasantry, their country's pride,
When once destroyed can never be supplied.
The Wife of the Mind
© Charles Webb
Sharecroppers' child, she was more schooled
In slaughtering pigs and coaxing corn out of
The ground than in the laws of Math, the rules
Of Grammar. Seventeen, she fell in love
Silent Letters
© Charles Webb
Treacherous as trap door spiders,
they ambush children's innocence.
"Why is there g h in light? It isn't fair!"
Buddha declared the world illusory
Blind
© Charles Webb
It's okay if the world goes with Venetian;
Who cares what Italians don't see?--
Or with Man's Bluff (a temporary problem
Healed by shrieks and cheating)--or with date:
Three hours of squirming repaid by laughs for years.
Application For A Driving License
© Michael Ondaatje
Two birds loved
in a flurry of red feathers
like a burst cottonball,
continuing while I drove over them.
I am a good driver, nothing shocks me.
Elizabeth
© Michael Ondaatje
In the pond where they kept the goldfish
Philip and I broke the ice with spades
and tried to spear the fishes;
we killed one and Philip ate it,
then he kissed me
with the raw saltless fish in his mouth.
Speaking To You (From Rock Bottom)
© Michael Ondaatje
'Dancing' 'laughing' 'bad taste'
is a memory
a tableau behind trees of law
The Time Around Scars
© Michael Ondaatje
I would meet you now
and I would wish this scar
to have been given with
all the love
that never occurred between us.
The Cinnamon Peeler
© Michael Ondaatje
If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
And leave the yellow bark dust
On your pillow.
To A Sad Daughter
© Michael Ondaatje
One day I'll come swimming
beside your ship or someone will
and if you hear the siren
listen to it. For if you close your ears
only nothing happens. You will never change.
To the Memory of Henry Welles Livingston
© Major Henry Livingston, Jr.
A gentle spirit now above
Once animated what lies here
Till heav'n announc'd in tenderest love
"Ascend Immortal to yon sphere."
The IX Ode to Horace
© Major Henry Livingston, Jr.
While I was pleasing to your arms,
Nor any youth, of happier charms,
Thy snowy bosom blissful prest,
Not Portia's like me was blest.
Catharine Breese Livingston
© Major Henry Livingston, Jr.
I fondly nursed an opening rose,
And view'd its beauties every day;
But ah! a withering storm arose
And swept my lovely flower away.
