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The Poet
(from "a midsummer-night's dream")

The poet's eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,
Doth glance from heaven to earth, from earth to heaven;
And, as imagination bodies forth
The forms of things unknown, the poet's pen
Turn them to shapes, and gives airy nothing
A local habitation and a name.

William Shakespeare



Answer to a Child's Question

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,
The linnet and thrush say, "I love and I love!"
In the winter they're silent - the wind is so strong;
What it says, I don't know, but it sings a loud song.
But green leaves, and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,
And singing, and loving - all come back together.
But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,
The green fields below him, the blue sky above,
That he sings, and he sings; and for ever sings he -
"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"

Samual Taylor Coleridge



Inscription
For a Fountain On a Heath


This Sycamore, oft musical with bees, -
Such tents the Patriarchs loved! O long unharmed
May all its aged boughs o'ercanopy
The small round basin, which this jutting stone
Keeps pure from falling leaves! Long may the Spring,
Quietly as sleeping infant's breath,
Send up cold waters to the traveller
With soft and even pulse! Nor ever case
Yon tiny cone of sand its soundless dance,
Which at the bottom, like a Fairy's page,
As merry and no taller, dances still,
Nor wrinkles the smooth surface of the Fount.
Here twilight is and coolness: here is moss,
A soft seat, and a deep and ample shade.
Thou may'st toil far and find no second tree.
Drink, Pilgrim, here; Here rest! and if thy heart
Be innocent, here too shalt thou refresh
Thy Spirit, listening to some gentle sound,
Or passing gale or hum murmuring bees!

Samual Taylor Coleridge
 


The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove,
That vallies, groves, or hills, or field,
Or woods, and steepy mountains yield;

Where we will sit upon the rocks,
And see the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers, to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And then a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle,
Embroined all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Slippers, lined choicely 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.

Thy silver dishes, for thy meat,
As precious as the gods do eat,
Shall, on an ivory table, be
Prepared each day for thee and me.

The shephards swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May-morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Come live with me and be my love.

Christopher Marlow
 






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poetry-love-poems.com is a poetry project to make a poetry collection avaliable on the internet to enable our users to read the poems online. The poetry, classical poem, love poems, etc. are taken from old, antiquarian books and are in parts added with further informations.