poems about love

We are all liars, because
the truth of yesterday becomes a lie tomorrow,
whereas letters are fixed,
and we live by the letter of truth.

The love I feel for my friend, this year,
is different from the love I felt last year.
If it were not so, it would be a lie.
Yet we reiterate love! love!

as if it were coin with a fixed value
instead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.

O my honey, take me back,
O my dahlin', I'll be true.
I am mo'nin' all day long,
O my honey, I love you.

I have loved you in joy and pain,
In de sunshine and de rain,
O my honey, heah me do,
O my dahlin', I love you.

I have seen men binding their brothers in chains, and crafty traders reaching for the bread that women and children lifted to their mouths;
I have seen suffering go unaided.
I have heard the iron din of war, and have seen the waxen face of early death;
And I have cried in my heart, “The world is hate!”

I have heard birds calling their mates in the still forests, and insects chirping to their loves in the tangled grass of meadows;
I have seen mothers caressing their babes, and aged men supporting with devotion the slow steps of stooping women;

I have a friend; I have a story;
I have a life that's hard to live;
I love; my love is all my glory;
I have been hurt and I forgive.

I have a friend; none could be better;
I stake my heart upon my friend!
I love; I trust her to the letter;
Will she deceive me in the end?

She is my love, my life, my jewel;
My hope, my star, my dear delight.
God! but the ways of God are cruel,—
That love should bow the knee to spite!

She loves, she hates,—a foul alliance!
One King shall rule in one estate.

The wilting flower
in the heart
of one whose love
has died and gone
in the end fades
utterly—
down to its very hue.

So feckless a hope—
that the moon
crossing the sky
would be enough
to keep us
in the same world—
held together

Our pledge
of love—
is as the dew
of evening
hanging on grasses
withered
by the winds
blowing
at the far edge
of autumn fields.

Though to the South thou takest flight
To farthest shores of Meroë,
Winged Love will come with wingèd might
And bear me on to thee;

And if to Eastern lands thou sail,
Thy cheeks more red than Eastern skies,
I'll follow still nor ever fail
Until I reach my prize.

Well reason they, who from the birds, and flowers
Would prove that God is all a God of Love;
For feelings, that transcend e'en reason's powers,
To all mankind the same great doctrine prove.
'Tis true the fire, and tempest work his will,
Yet not in wrath, but for the good of man;
What seems to us with tear-dimmed eyes but ill,
Is still a part of one all-perfect plan!
The good of man, this is the gracious end,
For which all things were made on earth, in heaven;
To this alone forever do they tend,

I love you and you know it—this at least,
This comfort is mine own in all my pain:
You know it and can never doubt again,
And love's mere self is a continual feast.
Not oath of mine nor blessing-word of priest
Could make my love more certain or more plain:—
Life as a rolling moon doth wax and wane
O weary moon, still rounding, still decreased!
Life wanes: and when love folds his wings above
Tired joy, and less we feel his conscious pulse,
Let us go fall asleep, dear Friend, in peace;—