A Birthday

My heart is like a singing bird
Whose nest is in a water’d shoot;
My heart is like an apple-tree
Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit;
My heart is like a rainbow shell
That paddles in a halcyon sea;
My heart is gladder than all these,
Because my love is come to me.

Raise me a daïs of silk and down;
Hang it with vair and purple dyes;
Carve it in doves and pomegranates,
And peacocks with a hundred eyes;
Work it in gold and silver grapes,
In leaves and silver fleurs-de-lys;
Because the birthday of my life
Is come, my love is come to me.

—Christina Rossetti

For more love poems, see The Complete Poems, Christina Rossetti

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Birthday of my life love poem card

photo by Kelly Sauer

Wild Nights, Wild Nights! (269)

Wild Nights – Wild Nights!
Were I with thee
Wild Nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile – the winds –
To a heart in port –
Done with the compass –
Done with the chart!

Rowing in Eden –
Ah, the sea!
Might I moor – Tonight –
In thee!

—Emily Dickinson

For more love poems, see The Collected Poems of Emily Dickinson.

Related Article at Tweetspeak Poetry:

“Who wouldn’t love a poet that loved to stay home, hated laundry, gave away baked goods, knew her way around a piece of sarcasm, and used chocolate wrappers for her Moleskine?” continue reading A Pencil for Emily Dickinson

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Wild nights Emily Dickinson photo by LL Barkat

photo by L.L. Barkat

Sonnets from the Portuguese 43: How do I love thee? Let me count the ways

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.

—Elizabeth Barrett Browning

For more love poems, see Sonnets from the Portuguese and Other Poems

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How do I love thee Emily Dickinson art by Emily Wierenga

art by Emily Wierenga

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 mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d 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!

—Lord Byron (George Gordon), 1814

For more love poems, see Byron’s Poetry and Prose

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Every shadow holds the curve of your neck Dave Malone photo by Claire Burge
photo by Claire Burge

Oh You Whom

O you whom I often and silently come where you are that
I may be with you,
As I walk by your side or sit near, or remain in the same
room with you,
Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is
playing within me.

—Walt Whitman, for more love poems see Leaves of Grass

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subtle electric fire that plays for you Walt Whitman photo by Sonia Joie
photo by Sonia Joie