The line-storm clouds fly tattered and swift, The road is forlorn all day, Where a myriad snowy quartz stones lift, And the hoof-prints vanish away. The roadside flowers, too wet for the bee, Expend their bloom in vain. Come over the hills and far with me, And be my love in the rain. The . . .
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 . . .
To His Coy Mistress
Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, Lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk and pass our long love's day. Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find: I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood, And you . . .
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 . . .
Come
Come, tangle yourself in me. —L.L. Barkat, from The Novelist For more on The Novelist, visit Tweetspeak Poetry Check out Funny Love Songs Check out Romantic Love Songs . . .
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