SAROJINI NAIDU [1879 - 1949]
An Indian Love Song
He
Lift up the veils that darken the delicate moon
of thy glory and grace,
Withhold not, O love, from the night
of my longing the joy of thy luminous face,
Give me a spear of the scented keora
guarding thy pinioned curls,
Or a silken thread from the fringes
that trouble the dream of thy glimmering pearls;
Faint grows my soul with thy tresses’ perfume
and the song of thy anklets’ caprice,
Revive me, I pray, with the magical nectar
that dwells in the flower of thy kiss.o
She
How shall I yield to the voice of thy pleading,
how shall I grant the prayer,
Or give thee a rose-red silken tassel,
a scented leaf from my hair?
Or fling in the flame of thy heart’s desire
the veils that cover my face,
Profane the law of my father’s creed for a foe
of my father’s race?
Thy kinsmen have broken our sacred alters
and slaughtered our sacred kine,
The feud of old faiths and the blood of old battles
sever thy people and mine.o
He
What are the sins of my race, Beloved,
what are my people to thee?
And what are thy shrines, and kine and kindred,
what are thy gods to me?o
Love recks not of feuds and bitter follies,
of stranger, comrade or kin,
Alike in his ear sound the temple bells
and the cry of the muezzin.
For love shall cancel the ancient wrong
and conquer the ancient rage.
Redeem with his tears the memoried sorrow
that sullied a bygone age.o
W.H. AUDEN [1907 – 1973]
Are You There
Each lover has some theory of his own
About the difference between the ache
Of being with his love, and being alone;
Why what, when dreaming, is dear flesh and bone
That really stirs the senses, when awake,
Appears a simulacrum of his own.
Narcissus disbelieves in the unknown;
He cannot join his image in the lake
So long as he assumes he is alone.
The child, the waterfall, the fire, the stone,
Are always up to mischief, though, and take
The universe for granted as their own.
The elderly, like Proust, are always prone
To think of love as a subjective fake;
The more they love, the more they feel alone.
Whatever view we hold, it must be shown
Why every lover has a wish to make
Some kind of otherness his own:
Perhaps, in fact, we never are alone.o
KENNETH PATCHEN [1911 - 1972]
As We Are So Wonderfully Done
As we are so wonderfully done with each other
We can walk into our separate sleep
on floors of music where the milkwhite
cloak of childhood lies
Oh my love, my golden lark, my soft long doll
Your lips have splashed my dull house with print of flowers
My hands are crooked where they
spilled over your dear curving
It is good to be weary from the brilliant work
It is being God to feel your breathing under me
A waterglass on the bureau fills with morning…..
Don’t let anyone in to wake us
STEPHEN FOSTER [1826 – 1864]
Beautiful Dreamer
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me,
Starlight and dewdrops are waiting for thee;
Sounds of the rude world heard in the day,
Lull’d by the moonlight have all pass’d away!
Beautiful dreamer, queen of my song,
List while I woo thee with soft melody;
Gone are the cares of life’s busy throng.
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me!
Beautiful dreamer, out on the sea,
Mermaids are haunting the wild lorelie;
Over the streamlet vapors are borne,
Waiting to fade at the bright coming morn.
Beautiful dreamer, beam on my heart,
E’en as the morn on the streamlet and sea;
Then will all clouds of sorrow depart,
Beautiful dreamer, awake unto me
GIACOMO PUCCINI [1858 – 1924]
E Lucevan Le Stelle
AND THE STARS WERE SHINING, from opera Tosca
And the stars were shining . . .
The earth smelt sweet . . .
The garden gate creaked . . .
And a footstep brushed the sand.
She entered, fragrant,
And fell into my arms.
O soft kisses, tender caresses,
While I, all a-quiver,
Unveiled her lovely features!
Vanished forever is my dream of love . . .
That time has fled
And I die in despair.
Never have I loved life so dearly
HILDA DOOLITTLE [1886 – 1961]
from Eros
My mouth is wet with your life,
my eyes blinded with your face,
a heart itself which feels
the intimate music.
My mind is caught,
dimmed with it,
(where is love taking us?)
my lips are wet with your life.
In my body were pearls cast,
shot with Ionian tints, purple,
vivid through the white
CARL SANDBURG [1878 – 1967]
Explanations of Love
There is a place where love begins and a place
where love ends.
There is a touch of two hands that foils
all dictionaries.
There is a look of eyes fierce as a big Bethlehem
open-house furnace or a little green-eyed
acetylene torch.
There are single careless bywords portentous as
the big bend in the Mississippi River.
Hands, eyes, bywords—out of these love makes
battlegrounds and workshops.
There is a pair of shoes love wears
and the coming is a mystery.
There is a warning love sends and the cost of it
is never written till long afterward.
There are explanations of love in all languages
and not one found wiser than this:
There is a place where love begins and a place
where love ends—and love asks nothing
OU-YANG HSIU [1007 – 1072]
Faint Thunder Drifts beneath the Willow
Faint thunder drifts . . .
beneath the willow,
rain upon the pool.
The sound of rain,
and rain again from lotus leaves.
The western eaves of this small place
cut through the rainbow.
I leaned on the rail and waited
for the moon to bloom.
A swallow flew and perched
to peer in at the ridgepole.
The moon, jade hook,
hung from the curtain rod.
No waves on water,
still waves, the wrinkles of the coverlet.
Behind the crystal screen, two pillows:
on one, a hairpin fell
CLAUDE MCKAY [1890 – 1948]
Flower of Love
The perfume of your body dulls my sense.
I want not wine nor weed; your breath alone
Suffices. In this moment rare and tense
I worship at your breast. The flower is blown
The saffron petals tempt my amorous mouth,
The yellow heart is radiant now with dew
Soft-scented, redolent of my loved South;
O flower of love! I give myself to you.
Uncovered on your couch of figured green,
Here let us linger indivisible.
The portals of your sanctuary unseen
Receive my offering, yielding unto me.
Oh, with our love the night is warm and deep!
The air is sweet, my flower, and sweet the flute
Whose music lulls our burning brain to sleep,
While we lie loving, passionate and mute
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Fulfillment
Lo, I have opened unto you the
gates of my being,
And like a tide, you have flowed
into me.
The innermost recesses of my spirit
are full of you
And all the channels of my soul
are grown sweet with your presence
For you have brought me peace;
the peace of great tranquil waters,
And the quiet of the summer sea.
Your hands are filled with peace as
The noon-tide is filled with light;
about your head is bound the eternal
Quiet of the stars, and in your heart
dwells the calm miracle of twilight.
I am utterly content.
In all my being is no ripple of unrest
for I have opened unto you the
Wide gates of my being
and like a tide, you have flowed into me
JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY [1849 – 1916]
Her Beautiful Hands
O your hands—they are strangely fair!
Fair—for the jewels that sparkle there,—
Fair—for the witchery of the spell
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches rest
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager, acquisitive spans
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!
Marvelous—wonderful—beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the strands
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine,
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the soul
And fetter the heart under such a control
As only the strength of my love understands—
My passionate love for your beautiful hands.
As I remember the first fair touch
Of those beautiful hands that I love so much,
I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled,
Kissing the glove that I found unfilled—
When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow,
As you said to me, laughingly, “Keep it now!”. . .
And dazed and alone in a dream I stand,
Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand.
When first I loved, in the long ago,
And held your hand as I told you so—
Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss
And said “I could die for a hand like this!”
Little I dreamed love’s fullness yet
Had to ripen when eyes were wet
And prayers were vain in their wild demands
For one warm touch of your beautiful hands
Beautiful Hands!—O Beautiful Hands!
Could you reach out of the alien lands
Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night
Only a touch—were it ever so light—
My heart were soothed, and my weary brain
Would lull itself into rest again;
For there is no solace the world commands
Like the caress of your beautiful hands
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING [1806 - 1861]
How Do I Love Thee?o
How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints! — I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! — and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death
CARL SANDBURG [1878 - 1967]
I Love You
I love you for what you are, but I love you
yet more for what you are going to be.
I love you not so much for your realities
as for your ideals.
I pray for your desires that they may be great,
rather than for your satisfactions,
which may be so hazardously little.
You are going forward toward something great.
I am on the way with you,
and therefore I love you
ELLA WHEELER WILCOX [1850 – 1919]
I Love You
I love your lips when they’re wet with wine
And red with a wild desire;
I love your eyes when the lovelight lies
Lit with a passionate fire.
I love your arms when the warm white flesh
Touches mine in a fond embrace;
I love your hair when the strands enmesh
Your kisses against my face.
Not for me the cold calm kiss
Of a virgin’s bloodless love;
Not for me the saint’s white bliss,
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world’s blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.
So kiss me sweet with your warm wet mouth,
Still fragrant with ruby wine,
And say with a fervor born of the South
That your body and soul are mine.
Clasp me close in your warm young arms,
While the pale stars shine above,
And we’ll live our whole young lives away
In the joys of a living love
VOLTAIRE [1694 - 1778]
I Shall Love You
Sensual pleasure passes
and vanishes
in the twinkling of an eye,
but the friendship between us,
the mutual confidence,
the delights of the heart,
the enchantment of the soul—
these things do not perish
and can never be destroyed.
I shall love you until I die
SPIKE MILLIGAN [1918 - 2002]
If I Could Write Words
If I could write words
Like leaves on an autumn forest floor,
What a bonfire my letters would make.
If I could speak words of water,
You would drown when I said
“I love you.”
ANTONIO MACHADO [1875 – 1939]
If I Were a Poet
If I were a poet
of love, I would make
a poem for your eyes as clear
as the transparent water in the marble pool.
And in my water poem
this is what I would say:
“I know your eyes do not answer mine,
they look and do not question when they look:
your clear eyes, your eyes have
the calm and good light,
the good light of the blossoming world that I saw
one day from the arms of my mother.”o
RUMI [1207 - 1273]
In One Another’s Souls
The moment I heard my first love story
I began seeking you,
not realizing
the search was useless.
Lovers don’t meet
somewhere along the way.
They’re in one another’s souls
from the beginning
YEHUDA AMICHAI [1924 – 2000]
In the Middle of This Century
In the middle of this century we turned to each other
with half face and full eyes
like an ancient Egyptian painting
and for a short time.
I stroked your hair in a direction opposite to your journey,
we called out to each other
as people call out the names of cities that they don’t stop in
along the road.
Beautiful is the world that wakes up early for evil,
beautiful is the world that falls asleep to sin and mercy,
in the profanity of our being together, you and I.
Beautiful is the world.
The earth drinks people and their loves
like wine, in order to forget. It won’t be able to.
And like the contours of the Judean mountains,
we also won’t find a resting-place.
In the middle of this century we turned to each other.
I saw your body, casting the shadow, waiting for me.
The leather straps of a long journey
had long since been tightened crisscross on my chest.
I spoke in praise of your mortal loins,
you spoke in praise of my transient face,
I stroked your hair in the direction of your journey,
I touched the tidings of your last day,
I touched your hand that has never slept,
I touched your mouth that now, perhaps, will sing.
Desert dust covered the table
we hadn’t eaten from.
But with my finger I wrote in it the letters of
your name
IZUMI SHIKIBU [C. 974 – C. 1034]
In This World
In this world
love has no color—
yet how deeply
my body
is stained by yours
SANSKRIT POEM
Jewel
Although I conquer all the earth,
Yet for me there is only one city.
In that city there is for me only one house;
And in that house, one room only;
And in that room, a bed.
And one woman sleeps there,
The shining joy and jewel of all my kingdom
DANTE ALIGHIERI [1265 - 1321]
La Vita Nuova
In that book which is
My memory . . .
On the first page
That is the chapter when
I first met you
Appear the words . . .
‘Here begins a new life.’o
RUMI [1207 - 1273]
Let Us Fall in Love Again
Let us fall in love again
and scatter gold dust all over the world.
Let us become a new spring
and feel the breeze drift in the heavens’ scent.
Let us dress the earth in green,
and like the sap of a young tree
let the grace from within sustain us.
Let us carve gems out of our stony hearts
and let them light our path to Love.
The glance of Love is crystal clear
and we are blessed by its light
GEORGE MEREDITH [1828 – 1909]
from Love in the Valley
Hither she comes; she comes to me; she lingers,
Deepens her brown eyebrows, while in new surprise
High rise the lashes in wonder of a stranger;
Yet am I the light and living of her eyes.
Something friends have told her fills her heart
to brimming,
Nets her in her blushes, and wounds her, and tames.—
Sure of her haven, O like a dove alighting,
Arms up, she dropped: our souls were in our names
SHAW NEILSON [1872 – 1942]
Love’s Coming
Quietly as rosebuds
Talk to thin air,
Love came so lightly
I knew not he was there.
Quietly as lovers
Creep at the middle noon,
Softly as players tremble
In the tears of a tune;
Quietly as lilies
Their faint vows declare,
Came the shy pilgrim:
I knew not he was there.
Quietly as tears fall
On a warm sin,
Softly as griefs call
In a violin;
Without hail or tempest,
Blue sword or flame,
Love came so lightly
I knew not that he came
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY [1792 - 1822]
Love’s Philosophy
The fountains mingle with the river
And the rivers with the Ocean;
The winds of Heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one spirit meet and mingle.
Why not I with thine?
See the mountains kiss high Heaven
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister-flower would be forgiven
If it disclaimed its brother;
And the sunlight clasps the earth
And the moonbeams kiss the sea—
What is all this sweet work worth
If thou kiss not me?o
WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS [1883 – 1963]
Love Song
Sweep the house clean,
hang fresh curtains
in the windows
put on a new dress
and come with me!
The elm is scattering
its little loaves
of sweet smells
from a white sky!
Who shall hear of us
in the time to come?
Let him say there was
a burst of fragrance
from black branches
LANGSTON HUGHES [1902 – 1967]
Love Song for Antonia
If I should sing
All of my songs for you
And you would not listen to them,
If I should build
All of my dream houses for you
And you would never live in them,
If I should give
All of my hopes to you
And you would laugh and say: I do not care,
Still I would give you my love
Which is more than my songs,
More than any houses of dreams,
Or dreams of houses—
I would still give you my love
Though you never looked at me
PABLO NERUDA [1904 - 1973]
Morning (Love Sonnet XXVII)
Naked you are simple as one of your hands;
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.
You’ve moon-lines, apple pathways
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.
Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba;
You’ve vines and stars in your hair.
Naked you are spacious and yellow
As summer in a golden church.
Naked you are tiny as one of your nails;
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born
And you withdraw to the underground world.
As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores;
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,
And becomes a naked hand again
ONO NO KOMACHI [C. 834 - ?]
My Longing for You
My longing for you—
Too strong to keep within bounds.
At least no one can blame me
When I go to you at night
Along the road of dreams
RICHARD BRAUTIGAN [1935 - 1984]
Nine Things
It’s night
and a numbered beauty
lapses at the wind,
chortles with the
branches of a tree,
giggles,
plays shadow dance
with a dead kite,
cajoles affection
from falling leaves,
and knows four
other things.
One is the color
of your hair
MARY HASKELL [1873 - 1964]
Nothing You Become Will Disappoint Me
Nothing you become will disappoint me;
I have no preconception that I’d like to see you be or do.
I have no desire to foresee you, only to discover you.
You can’t disappoint me
ROBERT BROWNING [1812 - 1889]
Now
Out of your whole life give but a moment!
All of your life that has gone before,
All to come after it,—so you ignore,
So you make perfect the present; condense,
In a rapture of rage, for perfection’s endowment,
Thought and feeling and soul and sense,
Merged in a moment which gives me at last
You around me for once, you beneath me, above me—
Me, sure that, despite of time future, time past,
This tick of life-time’s one moment you love me!
How long such suspension may linger? Ah, Sweet,
The moment eternal—just that and no more—
When ecstasy’s utmost we clutch at the core,
While cheeks burn, arms open, eyes shut, and lips meet
SARAH TEASDALE [1883 - 1933]
Oh Are You Coming?
Oh you are coming, coming, coming,
How will hungry Time put by the hours till then?
But why does it anger my heart to long so
For one man out of the world of men?
Oh I would live in myself only
And build my life lightly and still as a dream—
Are not my thoughts clearer than your thoughts
And colored like stones in a running stream?
Now the slow moon brightens in heaven,
The stars are ready, the night is here—
Oh why must I lose myself to love you,
My dear?o
MARK VAN DOREN [1894 – 1972]
Private Worship
She lay there in the stone folds of his life
Like a blue flower in granite—this he knew;
And knew how now inextricably the petals
Clung to the rock; recessed beyond his hand-thrust;
More deeply in, past more forgotten windings
Than his rude tongue could utter, praising her.
He praised her with his eyes, beholding oddly
Not what another saw, but what she added—
Thinning today and shattering with a slow smile—
To the small flower within, to the saved secret.
She was not to have—except that something,
Always like petals falling, entered him.
She was not his to keep—except the brightness,
Flowing from her, that lived in him like dew;
And the kind flesh he could remember touching,
And the unconscious lips, and both her eyes:
These lay in him like leaves—beyond the last turn
Breathing the rocky darkness till it bloomed.
It was not large, this chamber of the blue flower,
Nor could the scent escape; nor the least color
Ebb from that place and stain the outer stone.
Nothing upon his grey sides told the fable,
Nothing of love or lightness, nothing of song;
Nothing of her at all. Yet he could fancy—
Oh, he could feel where petals spread their softness,
Gathered from windfalls of her when she smiled;
Growing some days, he thought, as if to burst him—
Oh, he could see the split halves, and the torn flower
Fluttering in sudden sun; and see the great stain—
Oh, he could see what tears had done to stone
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
Romance
Love is the breath of life—
Romance, its music
And its dance…
It is the rhythm
Of giving with one hand;
Receiving with the other—
Stepping forward with the right foot,
Stepping back with the left…
The song of romance
Is not found in the rose,
But in the dancing heart
From which the rose comes
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE [1564 - 1616]
Shall I Compare Thee
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed;
And every fair from fair sometimes declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Not shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
So long as men breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee
MARIA LOVELL [1803 – 1877]
So What Is Love?
So what is Love? If thou wouldst know
The human heart alone can tell:
Two minds with but a single thought,
Two hearts that beat as one.
And whence comes Love? Like morning bright
Love comes without thy call.
And how dies Love? A spirit bright,
Love never dies at all
GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON [1788 - 1824]
She Walks in Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent
LIU YUNG [987 – 1053]
Song
She lowers her fragrant curtain,
wanting to speak her love.
She hesitates, she frowns—
the night is too soon over!
Her lover is first to bed,
warming the duck-down quilt.
She lays aside her needle,
drops her rich silk skirt,
eager for his embrace,
He asks one thing:
that the lamp remain lit.
He wants to see her face
RAINER MARIA RILKE [1875 – 1926]
Song of Love
How shall I guard my soul so that it be
Touched not by thine?
And how shall it be brought,
Lifted above thee unto other things?
Ah, gladly would I hide it utterly
Lost in the dark
Where there are no murmurings
In strange and silent
Places that do not
Vibrate when thy deep soul quivers and sings.
But all that touches us two makes us twin,
Even as the bow crossing the violin,
Draws but one voice from the two strings that meet.
Upon what instrument are we two spanned?
And what great player has us in his hand?
O song most sweet
HAFIZ [probable, 1320 - 1389]
Some Fill with Each Good Rain
There are different wells within your heart.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far too deep for that.
In one well
You have just a few precious cups of water,
That “love” is literally something of yourself,
It can grow as slow as a diamond
If it is lost.
Your love
Should never be offered
To the mouth of a stranger,
Only to someone
Who has the valor and daring
To cut pieces of their soul off with a knife
Then weave them into a blanket
To protect you.
There are different wells within us.
Some fill with each good rain,
Others are far, far too deep
For that
SIR EDWIN ARNOLD [1832 - 1904]
Somewhere
Somewhere there waiteth in this world of ours
For one lone soul, another lonely soul—
Each chasing each through all the weary hours,
And meeting strangely at one sudden goal;
Then blend they—like green leaves with golden flowers,
Into one beautiful and perfect whole—
And life’s long night is ended, and the way
Lies open onward to eternal day
E. E. CUMMINGS [1894 - 1962]
somewhere i have never traveled
somewhere i have never traveled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands
PABLO NERUDA [1904 - 1973]
from Cien Sonetos de Amor
Sonnet XVII
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep
PLATO [C. 428 – 348 B.C.]
Starlight
With two bright eyes, my star, my love,
Thou lookest on the stars above:
Ah, would that I the heaven might be
With a million eyes to look on thee
DANTE GABRIEL ROSSETTI [1828 - 1882]
Sudden Light
I have been here before,
But when or how I cannot tell:
I know the grass beyond the door,
The sweet keen smell,
The sighing sound, the lights around the shore.
You have been mine before,—
How long ago I may not know:
But just when at that swallow’s soar
Your neck turned so,
Some veil did fall,—I knew it all of yore.
Has this been thus before?
And shall not thus time’s eddying flight
Still with our lives our love restore
In death’s despite,
And day and night yield one delight once more
SARA TEASDALE [1884 - 1933]
The Beloved
It is enough of honor for one lifetime
To have known you better than the rest have known
The shadows and the colors of your voice,
Your will, immutable and still as stone.
The shy heart, so lonely and so gay,
The sad laughter and the pride of pride,
The tenderness, the depth of tenderness
Rich as the earth, and wide as heaven is wide
ANTONIO MACHADO [1875 – 1939]
The Flaming Rose
Lovers, the stuff you’re woven of is spring,
is wind and water, earth and sun.
You’ve hills in your heaving chests,
blossoming fields in your eyes:
go forth with the spring you share
and freely drink of the sweet milk
the wanton panther offers you today—
soon enough she’ll stalk you foully in your path.
Walk on when the tilt of the globe
points toward the summer solstice,
with the almond fully leaved, the violet withered,
thirst close at hand, springs to slake it near—
on toward the fullness of love’s afternoon,
holding in your hands the flaming rose
SARA TEASDALE [1884 – 1933]
The Kiss
Before you kissed me only winds of heaven
Had kissed me, and the tenderness of the rain—
Now that you have come, how can I care for kisses
Like theirs again?
I sought the sea, she sent her winds to meet me,
They surged about me singing of the south—
I turned my head away to keep still holy
Your kiss upon my mouth.
And swift sweet rains of shining April weather
Found not my lips where living kisses are;
I bowed my head lest they put out my glory
As rain puts out a star.
I am my love’s and he is mine forever,
Sealed with a seal and safe forevermore—
Think you that I could let a beggar enter
Where a king stood before
KAHLIL GIBRAN [1883 - 1931]
The Life of Love
Spring
Come, my beloved; let us walk amidst the knolls,
For the snow is water, and Life is alive from its
Slumber and is roaming the hills and valleys.
Let us follow the footprints of Spring into the
Distant fields, and mount the hilltops to draw
Inspiration high above the cool green plains.
Dawn of Spring has unfolded her winter-kept garment
And placed it on the peach and citrus trees; and
They appear as brides in the ceremonial custom of
The Night of Kedre.
The sprigs of grapevine embrace each other like
Sweethearts, and the brooks burst out in dance
Between the rocks, repeating the song of joy;
And the flowers bud suddenly from the heart of
Nature, like foam from the rich heart of the sea.
Come, my beloved; let us drink the last of Winter’s
Tears from the supped lilies, and soothe our spirits
With the shower of notes from the birds, and wander
In exhilaration through the intoxicating breeze.
Let us sit by that rock, where violets hide; let us
Pursue their exchange of the sweetness of kisses.
Summer
Let us go into the fields, my beloved, for the
Time of harvest approaches, and the sun’s eyes
Are ripening the grain.
Let us tend the fruit of the earth, as the
Spirit nourishes the grains of Joy from the
Seeds of Love, sowed deep in our hearts
Let us fill our bins with the products of
Nature, as life fills so abundantly the
Domain of our hearts with her endless bounty.
Let us make the flowers our bed, and the
Sky our blanket, and rest our heads together
Upon pillows of soft hay.
Let us relax after the day’s toil, and listen
To the provoking murmur of the brook.
Autumn
Let us go and gather the grapes of the vineyard
For the winepress, and keep the wine in old
Vases, as the spirit keeps Knowledge of the
Ages in eternal vessels.
Let us return to our dwelling, for the wind has
Caused the yellow leaves to fall and shroud the
Withering flowers that whisper elegy to Summer.
Come home, my eternal sweetheart, for the birds
Have made pilgrimage to warmth and left the chilled
Prairies suffering pangs of solitude. The Jasmine
And myrtle have no more tears.
Let us retreat, for the tired brook has
Ceased its song; and the bubblesome springs
Are drained of their copious weeping; and
The cautious old hills have stored away
Their colorful garments.
Come, my beloved; Nature is justly weary
And is bidding her enthusiasm farewell
With quiet and contented melody.
Winter
Come close to me, oh companion of my full life;
Come close to me and let not Winter’s touch
Enter between us. Sit by me before the hearth,
For fire is the only fruit of Winter
Speak to me of the glory of your heart, for
That is greater than the shrieking elements
Beyond our door.
Bind the door and seal the transoms, for the
Angry countenance of the heaven depresses my
Spirit, and the face of our snow-laden fields
Makes my soul cry.
Feed the lamp with oil and let it not dim, and
Place it by you, so I can read with tears what
Your life with me has written upon your face.
Bring Autumn’s wine. Let us drink and sing the
Song of remembrance to Spring’s carefree sowing,
And Summer’s watchful tending, and Autumn’s
Reward in harvest.
Come close to me, oh beloved of my soul; the
Fire is cooling and fleeing under the ashes.
Embrace me, for I fear loneliness; the lamp is
Dim, and the wine which we pressed is closing
Our eyes. Let us look upon each other before
They are shut.
Find me with your arms and embrace me; let
Slumber then embrace our souls as one.
Kiss me, my beloved, for Winter has stolen
All but our moving lips.
You are close by me, My Forever.
How deep and wide will be the ocean of Slumber;
And how recent was the dawn
FRANCIS WILLIAM BOURDILLON [1852 - 1921]
The Night Has a Thousand Eyes
The Night has a thousand eyes,
And the day but one;
Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.
The mind has a thousand eyes,
And the heart but one:
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done
CHRISTOPHER MARLOWE [1564 - 1593]
The Passionate Shepherd to His Love
Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.
And we will sit upon the rocks
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.
And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle.
A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair linèd slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.
A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.
The shepherd swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love
CONRAD AIKEN [1889 – 1973]
The Quarrel
Suddenly, after the quarrel, while we waited,
Disheartened, silent, with downcast looks, nor stirred
Eyelid nor finger, hopeless both, yet hoping
Against all hope to unsay the sundering word:
While all the room’s stillness deepened, deepened
about us,
And each of us crept his thought’s way to discover
How, with as little sound as the fall of a leaf,
The shadow had fallen, and lover quarreled with lover;
And while, in the quiet, I marveled—alas, alas—
At your deep beauty, your tragic beauty, torn
As the pale flower is torn by the wanton sparrow—
This beauty, pitied and loved, and now forsworn;
It was then, when the instant darkened to its darkest,—
When faith was lost with hope, and the rain conspired
To strike its gray arpeggios against our heartstrings,—
When love no longer dared, and scarcely desired:
It was then that suddenly, in the neighbor’s room,
The music started: that brave quartette of strings
Breaking out of the stillness, as out of our stillness,
Like the indomitable heart of life that sings
When all is lost; and startled from our sorrow,
Tranced from our grief by that diviner grief,
We raised remembering eyes, each looked at other,
Blinded with tears of joy; and another leaf
Fell silently as that first; and in the instant
The shadow had gone, our quarrel became absurd;
And we rose, to the angelic voices of the music,
And I touched your hand, and we kissed, without a
word
RAINER MARIA RILKE [1875 - 1926]
Time and Again
Time and again, however well we know the landscape of love,
and the little church-yard with lamenting names,
and the frightfully silent ravine wherein all the others
end: time and again we go out two together,
under the old trees, lie down again and again
between the flowers, face to face with the sky
RAINER MARIA RILKE [1875 - 1926]
To Love Another
For one human being to love another human being:
That is perhaps the most difficult task
that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task,
the final test and proof, the work for which all other work
is merely preparation . . .
Loving does not at first mean merging, surrendering,
and uniting with another person—
it is a high inducement for the individual to ripen . . .
to become world in himself for the sake of another person;
it is a great, demanding claim on him,
something that chooses him,
and calls him to vast distances
AUTHOR UNKNOWN
True Love
True love is a sacred flame
That burns eternally,
And none can dim its special glow
Or change its destiny.
True love speaks in tender tones
And hears with gentle ear,
True love gives with open heart
And true love conquers fear.
True love makes no harsh demands
It neither rules nor binds,
And true love holds with gentle hands
The hearts that it entwines
CHARLES JEFFERYS [1807 - 1865]
We Have Lived and Loved Together
We have lived and loved together
Through many changing years;
We have shared each other’s gladness
And wept each other’s tears;
I have known ne’er a sorrow
That was long unsoothed by thee;
For thy smiles can make a summer
Where darkness else would be.
Like the leaves that fall around us
In autumn’s fading hours,
Are the traitor’s smiles, that darken
When the cloud of sorrow lowers;
And though many such we’ve known, love,
Too prone, alas, to range,
We both can speak of one love
Which time can never change.
We have lived and loved together
Through many changing years;
We have shared each other’s gladness
And wept each other’s tears.
And let us hope the future
As the past has been will be:
I will share with thee my sorrows,
And thou thy joys with me
GEORGE ELIOT [1819 - 1880]
What Greater Thing
What greater thing is there for two human souls,
than to feel that they are joined for life—
To strengthen each other in all labor,
to rest on each other in all sorrow,
to minister to each other in all pain,
to be one with each other
in silent unspeakable memories
RUMI [1207 – 1273]
When I Am with You
When I am with you our loving
Won’t let me sleep
Away from you the tears won’t let me sleep.
God, it’s amazing to be awake both nights,
But how different these awakenings are
KUAN TAO-SHENG [1262 – 1319]
When Two People Are at One
When two people are at one
in their inmost hearts
They shatter even the strength of iron
or of bronze
And when two people understand each other
in their inmost hearts
Their words are sweet and strong
like the fragrance of orchids.
I Ching
Married Love
You and I
Have so much love
That it
Burns like fire,
In which we bake a lump of clay
Molded into a figure of you
And a figure of me.
Then we take both of them,
And break them into pieces,
And mix the pieces with water,
And mold again a figure of you,
And a figure of me.
I am in your clay.
You are in my clay.
In life we share a single quilt.
In death we will share one bed
ROY CROFT [1907 – 1973]
Why I Love You
I love you,
Not only for what you are,
But for what I am
When I am with you.
I love you,
Not only for what
You have made of yourself,
But for what
You are making of me.
I love you
For the part of me
That you bring out;
I love you
For putting your hand
Into my heaped-up heart
And passing over
All the foolish, weak things
That you can’t help
Dimly seeing there,
And for drawing out
Into the light
All the beautiful belongings
That no one else had looked
Quite far enough to find.
I love you because you
Are helping me to make
Of the lumber of my life
Not a tavern
But a temple;
Out of the works
Of my every day
Not a reproach
But a song
I love you
Because you have done
More than any creed
Could have done
To make me good,
And more than any fate
Could have done
To make me happy.
You have done it
Without a touch,
Without a word,
Without a sign.
You have done it
By being yourself.
Perhaps that is what
Being a friend means,
After all
KAHLIL GIBRAN [1883 – 1931]
You Were Born Together
You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.
You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days.
Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.
But let there be spaces in your togetherness,
And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.
Love one another but make not a bond of love:
Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.
Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.
Give one another your bread but eat not from the same loaf.
Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each of you be alone,
Even as the strings of the lute are alone though they quiver
with the same music.
Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.
For only the hands of Life can contain your hearts.
And stand together, yet not too near together:
For the pillars of the temple stand apart,
And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow
PABLO NERUDA [1904 – 1973]
Your Feet
When I can not look at your face
I look at your feet.
Your feet of arched bone,
your hard little feet.
I know that they support you,
and that your gentle weight
rises upon them.
Your waist and your breasts,
the doubled purple
of your nipples,
the sockets of your eyes
that have just flown away,
your wide fruit mouth,
your red tresses,
my little tower.
But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me
To Love
Give me, Love, kisses without end,
Intertwined as hairs on my head,
A thousand and one kisses send;
Then yet a further thousand shed,
And after
Many thousands, another three.
Now, lest some prying eyes should see,
Let us in vain scratch out the score,
And recount backwards, as before
Eternal Love
The sun could cast an eternal shadow,
And the sea could run dry in but a chime;
The earth’s axis could break
Like crystal fine.
Anything could happen! Death enswathing
Could cover me with its mournful attire;
But in me your love’s flame
Could ne’er expire
A Tear Swelled Up
Within her eye a tear swelled up,
And a word of forgiveness on my lips hung;
Pride then spoke and stifled her sob,
And the word expired on my tongue.
I take one path, she another;
But, thinking on our love once deep,
I still ask: why did I not speak that day?
And she asks: why did I not weep
Song of Love
Whether you love me,
I cannot declare;
But that I love you,
This I do swear.
No other woman
Could I hold so dear;
Not now, nor ever,
Another revere.
When I beheld you, Oh day
Most blest by love’s tender prayer,
With my all I endowed you,
This I do swear.
I’m yours, don’t doubt it,
So fear no deceit;
To think otherwise,
Would be false conceit.
Since the day I first met you,
My heart is caught in a snare,
And my wits are your captive,
This I do swear.
I love, will love you
Now and evermore;
Will serve you ever
By love’s faithful law.
For I’ve chosen the finest
From amongst all the most fair,
And as truth is my witness,
This I do swear
Thy Face is Written in My Soul
Lady, thy face is written in my soul,
And whenso’er I wish to chant thy praise,
On that illuminated manuscript I gaze,
Thou the sweet scribe art, I but read the scroll.
In this dear study all my days shall roll;
And though this book can ne’er the half receive
Of what in thee is charming, I believe
In that I see not, and thus see the whole
With faith’s clear eye; I but received my breath
To love thee, my ill Genius shaped the rest;
‘Tis now that soul’s mechanic act to love thee,
I love thee, owe thee more than I confessed;
I gained life by thee, cruel though I prove thee;
In thee I live, through thee I bleed to death
What is Poetry?
What is poetry?, you say
as you fix my eyes with yours of blue.
What is poetry! … You ask me that?
Poetry… It is you
I Believe That If I Should Die
I believe that if I should die, and you were to
walk near my grave, from the very depths of the earth
I would hear your footsteps
To a Woman
Child, if I were a king, I would surrender my throne,
My royal carriage, my scepter, and my kneeling subjects,
My golden crown, my baths of porphyry,
My fleets that sail the seas, my regal splendor,
All for one look of yours.
If I were God, the earth, the sky and oceans deep,
The angels and demons beneath my divine rule,
The profound chaos with flanks of flaming gold,
Eternity, space, the sky, and the planets,
All for one kiss of yours
Song
What is all the world to me?
What to me are useless lands,
If your footprint I do not see
Impressed in dust and sands?
What is water to my thirst?
What the clearest stream that flows
If you have not drunk there first
Water from the mountain snows?
What lovely flower can eclipse,
So elegant and budding new
The laughter of your sweet lips
That recalls the rosy hue?
And beneath the curving sky
The great ocean is not vast
When the color of your eyes
Against rippling waves is cast
I Love You
I love you for all the women I have not known
I love you for all the time I have not lived
For the scent of the vast sea and warm bread
For the snow that melts for the first flowers
For the pure animals untouched by man
I love you to love
I love you for all the women I do not love
Who reflects me except you, I am so small
Without you I see nothing but a vast desert
Between yesterday and today
There are all those deaths I crossed in the street
I have not been able to pierce my mirror wall
I have learned life word by word
As one forgets
I love you for all the wisdom that is not mine
For health
I love you against everything that is mere illusion
For the immortal heart that I do not possess
You believe you are doubt, but you are reason
You are the great sun that makes me drunk
When I am sure of myself
A Winter Dream
During winter we will ride in a little red carriage
With cushions of blue.
We will be so happy. And a nest of stolen kisses
Will soften the turn at each corner.
You shut your eyes and no longer look out the window
At the grimacing shadows of the night,
Hordes of gloomy nightmares, populated with
Black demons and black wolves.
And then you suddenly feel with a panic—
A little kiss, like a scared spider crawl
Across your cheek to your neck—
You say to me: “Look!” as you turn your head
—And I take forever as I try to find the beast.
—What a marvelous ride
JOHN HARRICHARAN
from Remembering and Other Poems
Ode to Mardai
Your voice entrances me
As nothing else can do;
It makes me want to be
Forevermore with you.
Your smile awakens in me
A longing as of yore;
It makes me yearn to be
With you, forevermore.
My heart and hands are thine,
My mind and all of me;
And though I call them mine,
They all belong to thee
JOHN HARRICHARAN
from Remembering and Other Poems
To My Wife
O Mardai, when I think of thee,
Which is as often as can be,
The very thought a vision brings
Of happiness and lovely things.
With lovely things and happiness
My heart is warmed, my soul is blessed;
For unto me, thou art a star
That guides the sailor, near or far.
That near or far, the sailor guides,
O’er mountain waves, where’er he rides;
Thou art that light, thou art that pearl,
Thou art my soul, my life, my world
HEATHER K. O’HARA
from forever, my beloved
forever, my beloved
I saw you there, between dreams;
between lives and lovers,
between moments we have lived,
between the mountains
and the rivers,
and in the long white hush
between our laughter and our tears—
yes . . .
I saw you there, between dreams;
your starlight soul dancing with mine,
our hearts bound together
by a string of pearls—
forever, my beloved
HEATHER K. O’HARA
from forever, my beloved
the day god fell in love with a woman
he took his time, carefully
molding her in his mind—
reaching into his own celestial gallery
of colors and textures and feelings he felt
that he could not describe—
intricately weaving together
his previous accomplishments:
rivers . . . horizons . . . soft-curve-of-the-moon;
lush valleys . . . silk stockings;
fire;
circles;
the sensuous limbs of the willow;
ten secrets;
high-heels;
dew . . .
fascinated with the details, he almost blushed
as he poured warm seed-milk
into her breasts;
filled her smooth belly full
with the rhythm of the spheres;
then stirred the mystery of such things
as . . . magnetism . . . and . . . e-lec-tri-ci-ty
into her rather dark-and-lovely eyes;
satisfied, he bathed her in scented oils;
dropped pearls, the color of an August moon,
into her palms;
wet her lips with sweet plum water
deliciously tainted
with a hint of pomegranate wine . . .
yes, that was the day
god fell in love with a woman
naming her Eternity so that she would never die—
and as he carried her in his arms
and lay her, gently, on the edge of time;
he whispered her name . . .
he breathed his breath into her . . . pushing her alive—
and as she awoke and touched his face;
as she awoke and kissed his skin . . . his mouth, his eyes;
as she awoke and ran her fingers through his hair—
he fell in love
he fell in love
a thousand times
مشخصات نویسنده
درباره : سلام دوستان عزیز من متولد سال 1367 خورشیدی در ایران در شهر شلوغ تهران در محله ی قدیمی پیروزی هستم. مدرک کارشناسی را در رشته ی زبان و ادبیات انگلیسی از دانشکده زبان های خارجه دانشگاه آزاد واحد رودهن در سال 1389 اخذ کردم. من علاقه ی زیادی به ادبیات و فرهنگ انگلیس دارم و به همین دلیل قصد دارم تا در وبلاگم مطالب جذاب و خواندنی بسیاری از این زبان و فرهنگ زیبا بنویسم امیدوارم مورد پسند شما عزیزان قرار بگیرد. خوشحال میشم مرا با پیشنهادات و نظرات خود یاری کنید. دوستدار شما عزیزان ساناز
پروفایل مدیر : ساناز آقائی
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