tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-88831634388159557652024-02-20T05:55:52.711-05:00Famous Love PoemsFamous Love Poems ever written by famous poets, writers and celebrities. If you love someone, these love poems can be the best gift to say I love you...Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-59369657130179304812013-05-03T16:35:00.014-04:002013-05-03T16:35:02.817-04:00Live With Me On Earth Under the Invisible Daylight MoonLive with me on Earth among red berries and the bluebirdsAnd leafy young twigs whisperingWithin such little spaces, between such floors of green, such figures in the cloudsThat two of us could fill our lives with delicate wanting:Where stars past the spruce copse mingle with firefliesOr the dayscape flings a thousand tones of light back at the sun—Be any one of the colours of an Earth Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-55895539051397073152013-05-03T16:35:00.013-04:002013-05-03T16:35:02.365-04:00I Shout LoveI shout love in a blizzard'sscarf of curling cold,for my heart's a furred sharp-toothed thingthat rushes out whimperingwhen pain cries the sign writ on it.I shout love into your painwhen skies crack and falllike slivers of mirrors,and rounded fingers, blued as a great rake,pluck the balled yarn of your brain.I shout love at petals peeled openby stern nurse fusion-bomb sun,terribly like an Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-29696251573436703162013-05-03T16:35:00.012-04:002013-05-03T16:35:01.736-04:00The IslandSince I'm Island-born home's as preciseas if a mumbly old carpenter,shoulder-straps crossed wrong,laid it out, refiguredto the last three-eighths of shingle.Nowhere that plowcut wormsheal themselves in red loam;spruces squat, skirts in sandor the stones of a river rattle its darktunnel under the elms,is there a spot not measured by hands;no direction I couldn't walkto the wave-lined edge of Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-52353327336963981792013-05-03T16:35:00.011-04:002013-05-03T16:35:00.641-04:00I Should Love To Be LovedI am neither infant nor happy grandfatherNor parent, nor loverOf anyone, of anyone.I am, as every man is, Majesty,The North Pole, the Secret, the Stranger,The will-o'-the-wisp in the distance, the will-o'-the-wisp in the distance.But alas! I cannot remain this way.I should like to show myself to the world,So that someone sees me, so that someone sees me.This is why I sing and I torment myself.I Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-86666236529727360452013-05-03T16:35:00.010-04:002013-05-03T16:35:01.563-04:00Because You Love MeYour eyes are mirrorsof blessed marvels,for they have seen me;you are the mistress,the cunning womanof the caress.A thousand times blessedare you as woman,for you have seen meand looked at me.Because you love meI also love you,because you love meyou are the woman,you are the fair. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-49048181637953147402013-05-03T16:35:00.009-04:002013-05-03T16:35:02.543-04:00The Magyar FallowI walk on meadows run to weed,on fields of burdock and mallow.I know this rank and ancient ground -this is the Magyar fallow.I bow down to the sacred soil;this virgin ground is gnawed I fear.You skyward groping seedy weeds,are there no flowers here?While I look at the slumbering earth,the twisting vines encircle me,and scent of long dead flowers steepmy senses amorously.Silence. I am dragged downUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-46078981022549454582013-05-03T16:35:00.008-04:002013-05-03T16:35:02.132-04:00Behold My Treasures, DarlingBehold my treasures, darling,they are less than a Biblical farthing,behold the fate of a true and faithful life,look at my grey hairs departing.I didn't wander afarsadly I was proud to be a Magyar,and I got a misery, woe, misfortuneand I have reaped troubles galore.At loving I was pretty goodcouldn't be outdone even by a Godas I conceived of it as a child.Look at me now, in pain, blood, and feverUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-33343049886754158782013-05-03T16:35:00.007-04:002013-05-03T16:35:01.300-04:00In Front Of Good Prince SilenceI walk the forest in the moonlightWhistle through my chattery teethStalking behind me ten feet tallGood Prince SilenceMercy, I tremble, dare not turn.Mercy, I tremble, dare not turn,And dare not gaze up, up to the moon:One false movement, one needless soundGood Prince SilenceWould step on me and tread me down. Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-9625471931967498232013-05-03T16:35:00.006-04:002013-05-03T16:35:00.974-04:00Longing For LoveNeither the issue nor the sire,neither fulfilment nor desiream I for anyone,am I for anyone.I am as all men, the sunless sea,the alien thule, mystery,a fleeing wisp of light,a fleeing wisp of light.But I must look for friends and brothers;I want to show myself to othersthat seeing they will see,that seeing they will see.For this my lyric masochism;I long to close the gaping schism,and thus belongUnknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-17326739592832791012013-05-03T16:35:00.005-04:002013-05-03T16:35:01.429-04:00I Guard Your EyesWith my old man's wrinkled hand,with my old man's squinting eyes,let me hold your lovely hand,let me guard your lovely eyes.Worlds have tumbled, through their falllike a wild beast chased by frightI came, and I on you did callscared, I wait with you inside.With my old man's wrinkled hand,with my old man's squinting eyes,let me hold your lovely hand,let me guard your lovely eyes.I do not know why,Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-87416993731370273752013-05-03T16:35:00.004-04:002013-05-03T16:36:02.153-04:00Life Terrifies MeHoly ecstasy-swans on great glad WatersSeize me, but in vain.I hear the gaggling of sensible ganders,Nothing can remain,There is nothing to last.I hear my future faltering sobsWhen I'm still smiling,And when dark ravens are cawing in my soulA chirpy starlingWill cheerily chime in.My longings frighten me. Fulfilment followsAnd I'll feel defiled.I dread contentment. Behind it storms the steedOf Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-68878664651790941252013-05-03T16:35:00.003-04:002013-05-03T16:35:03.014-04:00The Lost RiderWe hear the blind and aimless gallopingOf an errant rider from the days gome by:The shackled souls of sunken forests moanAs ancient marshes waken with a sigh.Where here and there the thickets, coppicesAre choked in patches, densely in a strife,The spectres of the ancient wintry talesAre now awakened to a sudden life.Here are the thickets, here the coppices.Here are the dismal tunes of bygone Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-67213781682464688332013-05-03T16:35:00.002-04:002013-05-03T16:35:03.854-04:00PathNear the open road And woods under the snow A point that lifts the nightA lamp keeps watch Upon the white face the lowered eyelids Upon the bare wall the closed shuttersRuts in the soil come togetherThe bridge nearerAnd cubes all about Shapes Objects The mystery of doorsWe Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-88364639123713412942013-05-03T16:35:00.001-04:002013-05-03T16:35:03.225-04:00To Double LockI am so far from the voicesFrom the festival’s distant murmurThe foaming mill wheel turns backThe sob of spring water ceasesThe hour has painfully glidedOver the moon’s great beachesAnd in the cramped warm spaces without a creviceI sleep head upon elbowIn the calm desert within the lamp’s circleTerrible time inhuman timeHunted along muddy sidewalksFar from the limpid amphitheatre that declines Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-19631853693464180822013-05-03T16:35:00.000-04:002013-05-03T16:35:01.857-04:00The Deeper ShadowNot they not anything not even HeStairs in the branches climbing the cloudsYou can’t find the number or the street or the name of the blue roads traced by roof corners and by straight lines of balconiesBut the wall stretches from the door to the ramp that mounts swiftly without stirringThe same motion makes us bend toward smoke that distorts stiff houses in the foregroundAnd my Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-58940403242774068722013-05-01T09:04:00.026-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.494-04:00Tourist'Twas in a village in LorraineWhose name I quite forget,I found I needfully was fainTo buy a serviette.I sought a shop wherein they sellSuch articles as these,And told a smiling mademoiselle;'I want a towel, please.''Of kinds,' said she, 'I've only two,'And took the bundles down;And one was coloured azure blue,And one was khaki brown.With doubt I scratched my hoary head;The quality was right;The Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-75750227271994186552013-05-01T09:04:00.025-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.488-04:00The Black DudeenHumping it here in the dug-out,Sucking me black dudeen,I'd like to say in a general way,There's nothing like Nickyteen;There's nothing like Nickyteen, me boys,Be it pipes or snipes or cigars;So be sure that a blokeHas plenty to smoke,If you wants him to fight your wars.When I've eat my fill and my belt is snug,I begin to think of my baccy plug.I whittle a fill in my horny palm,And the bowl of me Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-13290117071589587002013-05-01T09:04:00.024-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.482-04:00WinnieWhen I went by the meadow gateThe chestnut mare would trot to meet me,And as her coming I would wait,She'd whinney high as if to greet me.And I would kiss her silky nose,And stroke her neck until it glistened,And speak soft words: I don't supposeShe understand; but how she listened!Then in the war-net I was caught,Returning three black winters older;And when the little mare I soughtThe farmer Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-49479190374300880582013-05-01T09:04:00.023-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.476-04:00Two GravesFirst GhostTo sepulcher my mouldy bonesI bough a pile of noble stones,And half a year a sculptor spentTo hew my marble monument,The stateliest to rear its headIn all this city of the dead.And generations passing throughWill gape, and ask: What did he doTo earn this tomb so rich and rare,In Attic grace beyond compare?How was his life in honour spent,To worthy this proud monument?What did I do" Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-77204056750670184272013-05-01T09:04:00.022-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.471-04:00RemorseThat scathing word I used in scorn(Though half a century ago)Comes back to me this April morn,Like boomerang to work me woe;Comes back to me with bitter blame(Though apple boughs are blossoming),And oh! the anguish of my shameIs sharper than a serpent's sting!Age sensitizes us to pain,And when remembrance of some wordWe spoke in wrath return again,It stab is like a driven sword. . . .And if in Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-21573115813083890252013-05-01T09:04:00.021-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.465-04:00DuelloA Frenchman and an EnglishmanResolved to fight a duel,And hit upon a savage plan,Because their hate was cruel.They each would fire a single shotIn room of darkness pitchy,And who was killed and who was notWould hang on fingers twitchy.The room was bare and dark as death,And each ferocious fighterCould hear his fierce opponent's breathAnd clutched his pistol tighter.The Gaston fired; the bullet Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-24198736976200813932013-05-01T09:04:00.020-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.459-04:00Poet And PeerThey asked the Bard of Ayr to dine;The banquet hall was fit and fine,With gracing it a Lord;The poet came; his face was grimTo find the place reserved for himWas at the butler's board.So when the gentry called him in,He entered with a knavish grinAnd sipped a glass of wine;But when they asked would he reciteSomething of late he'd chanced to writeHe ettled to decline.Then with a sly, sardonic Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-61646327725189082782013-05-01T09:04:00.019-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.453-04:00The PortraitThe portrait there above my bedThey tell me is a work of art;My Wife,--since twenty years she's dead:Her going nearly broke my heart.Alas! No little ones we hadTo light our hearth with joy and glee;Yet as I linger lone and sadI know she's waiting me.The picture? Sargent painted it,And it has starred in many a show.Her eyes are on me where I sit,And follow me where'er I go.She'll smile like that Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-73330827410319700282013-05-01T09:04:00.018-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.447-04:00The HostI never could imagine God:I don't suppose I ever will.Beside His altar fire I nodWith senile drowsiness but stillIn old of age as sight grows dimI have a sense of Him.For when I count my sum of daysI find so many sweet and good,My mind is full of peace and praise,My heart aglow with gratitude.For my long living in the sunI want to thank someone.Someone who has been kind to me;Some power within, Unknownnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8883163438815955765.post-4552102408674906242013-05-01T09:04:00.017-04:002013-05-01T10:57:52.441-04:00The RoverOh, how good it is to beFoot-loose and heart-free!Just my dog and pipe and I, underneath the vast sky;Trail to try and goal to win, white road and cool inn;Fields to lure a lad afar, clear spring and still star;Lilting feet that never tire, green dingle, fagot fire;None to hurry, none to hold, heather hill and hushed fold;Nature like a picture book, laughing leaf and bright brook;Every day a Unknownnoreply@blogger.com