Love poems

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KINDNESS TO ANIMALS

© Arthur James Marshall Smith

Be kind to animals, my child:Don't make the gentle ringworm wild.

HeHad alwaysBeen a lucky one:The girl he lovedRefused him, so he alwaysKept her fresh-eyed beautySafe from ravagings of Time,And lived with her in one closeCorner of his brain, and kissed her lips,And pale white hands, and dreamy hair

Good Friday

© Arthur James Marshall Smith

This day upon the bitter treeDied one who had he willedCould have dried up the wide sea And the wind stilled,

For Healing

© Arthur James Marshall Smith

Spread your long armsTo the salt stinging wave:Let its breathless envelopingCleanliness laveArms, breast, shoulders,Sinews and thighsFrom the yellow of love,Her immoderate eyes,The ache of her fingers,The whips of her hair,And the bruise where her mouthMoved here and there

Chinoiserie

© Arthur James Marshall Smith

It is not you, no, madam, whom I love,Nor you either, Juliet, nor you,Ophelia, nor Beatrice, nor that dove,Fair-haired Laura with the big eyes; No.

Ballade un peu banale

© Arthur James Marshall Smith

The bellow of good Master Bull Astoundeth gentil CowThat standeth in the meadow cool Where cuckoo singeth now.

If I Should Die To-night

© Arabella Eugenia Smith

If I should die to-night,My friends would look upon my quiet faceBefore they laid it in its resting-place,And deem that death had left it almost fair;And, laying snow-white flowers against my hair,Would smooth it down with tearful tenderness,And fold my hands with lingering caress, --Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night!

If I should die to-night,My friends would call to mind with loving thoughtSome kindly deed the icy hands had wrought,Some gentle word the frozen lips had said,Errands on which the willing feet had sped;The memory of my selfishness and pride,My hasty words would all be put aside,And so I should be loved and mourned to-night

Jubilate Agno

© Christopher Smart

For I will consider my Cat Jeoffry

The Backsheesh Sergeant

© Skeyhill Tom

'E's a sneakin' smoogin' blighter, an' 'e'll never make a fighter, Unless it's 'gainst a wounded chap like me;'E's a cringin', crawlin' 'ound, an' a coward, I'll be bound,An' I don't know why 'e crossed the bloomin' sea

The Wish of the Weary Woman

© Sigourney Lydia Huntley

A form there was, still spared by timeTill the slow century fill'd its prime;Stretch'd on its bed, with half-closed eyeIt mark'd uncertain shades flit by;Nor scarce the varied world of soundTo the seal'd ear admittance found;While the worn brow, in wrinkles dark,Seem'd like the gnarl'd oak's roughen'd bark

I must not teaze my Mother

© Sigourney Lydia Huntley

I must not teaze my Mother; For she is very kind,And every thingshe says to me, I must directly mind:For when I was a baby

Eleventh Song

"Who is it that this dark nightUnderneath my window plaineth?"It is one who from thy sightBeing, ah, exil'd, disdainethEvery other vulgar light.

Song of Solomon

© The Bible

22:001:004 Draw me, we will run after thee: the king hath brought me into
his chambers: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, we will
remember thy love more than wine: the upright love thee.