Tue, February 14, 2012
Lifestyle > Society > Valentine's Day 2012

Classic love and romance poems for Valentine's Day

2012-02-14 07:12:30 GMT2012-02-14 15:12:30(Beijing Time)  Xinhua English

Love Thee

by Eliza Acton

I love thee, as I love the calm

Of sweet, star-lighted hours! I love thee, as I love the balm

Of early jes'mine flow'rs. I love thee, as I love the last

Rich smile of fading day, Which lingereth, like the look we cast,

On rapture pass'd away. I love thee as I love the tone

Of some soft-breathing flute Whose soul is wak'd for me alone,

When all beside is mute.

I love thee as I love the first

Young violet of the spring; Or the pale lily, April-nurs'd,

To scented blossoming. I love thee, as I love the full,

Clear gushings of the song, Which lonely--sad--and beautiful--

At night-fall floats along, Pour'd by the bul-bul forth to greet

The hours of rest and dew; When melody and moonlight meet

To blend their charm, and hue. I love thee, as the glad bird loves

The freedom of its wing, On which delightedly it moves

In wildest wandering.

I love thee as I love the swell,

And hush, of some low strain, Which bringeth, by its gentle spell,

The past to life again. Such is the feeling which from thee

Nought earthly can allure: 'Tis ever link'd to all I see

Of gifted--high--and pure!

La Vita Nuova

by Dante Alighieri

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

At Last

by Elizabeth Akers Allen

At last, when all the summer shine

That warmed life's early hours is past, Your loving fingers seek for mine

And hold them close—at last—at last! Not oft the robin comes to build

Its nest upon the leafless bough By autumn robbed, by winter chilled,—

But you, dear heart, you love me now.

Though there are shadows on my brow

And furrows on my cheek, in truth,— The marks where Time's remorseless plough

Broke up the blooming sward of Youth,— Though fled is every girlish grace

Might win or hold a lover's vow, Despite my sad and faded face,

And darkened heart, you love me now!

I count no more my wasted tears;

They left no echo of their fall; I mourn no more my lonesome years;

This blessed hour atones for all. I fear not all that Time or Fate

May bring to burden heart or brow,— Strong in the love that came so late,

Our souls shall keep it always now!


by Matthew Arnold

Come to me in my dreams, and then

By day I shall be well again.

For then the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam'st a thousand times,

A messenger from radiant climes,

And smile on thy new world, and be

As kind to others as to me.

Or, as thou never cam'st in sooth,

Come now, and let me dream it truth.

And part my hair, and kiss my brow,

And say My love! why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then、

By day I shall be well again.

For then the night will more than pay

The hopeless longing of the day.


by Margaret Atwood

Marriage is not a house or even a tent

it is before that, and colder:

the edge of the forest, the edge of the desert the unpainted stairs at the back where we squat outside, eating popcorn

the edge of the receding glacier

where painfully and with wonder at having survived even this far

we are learning to make fire


by W. H. Auden

Lay Your Sleeping head, my love,

Human on my faithless arm:

Time and fevers burn away

Individual beauty from

Thoughtful children, and the grave

Proves the child ephemeral:

But in my arms till break of day

Let the living creature lie,

Mortal, guilty, but to me

The entirely beautiful.

Soul and body have no bounds:

To lovers as they lie upon

Her tolerant enchanted slope

In their ordinary swoon,

Grave the vision

Venus sends

Of supernatural sympathy,

Universal love and hope;

While an abstract insight wakes

Among the glaciers and the rocks

The hermit's carnal ecstasy,

Certainty, fidelity

On the stroke of midnight pass

Like vibrations of a bell

And fashionable madmen raise

Their pedantic boring cry:

Every farthing of the cost.

All the dreaded cards foretell.

Shall be paid, but from this night

Not a whisper, not a thought.

Not a kiss nor look be lost.

Beauty, midnight, vision dies:

Let the winds of dawn that blow

Softly round your dreaming head

Such a day of welcome show

Eye and knocking heart may bless,

Find our mortal world enough;

Noons of dryness find you fed

By the involuntary powers,

Nights of insult let you pass

Watched by every human love.


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