For thousands of years poets have been writing
poems and sonnents for lovers.  I've collected
a few on this page.   Read them and dream of that special person in your life.  How empty life would
be without love!

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 everyday'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

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

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

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

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers 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.

The shepherds's swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Christopher Marlowe
1599

When You Are Old
By William Butler Yeats

WHEN you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;

How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;

And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

A RED, RED ROSE
by Robert Burns

O my luve is like a red, red rose,
That's newly sprung in June :
O my luve is like the melodie,
That's sweetly play'd in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonie lass,
So deep in luve am I :
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Til a the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun :
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.

And fare-thee-weel, my only luve !
And fare-thee-weel a while !
And I will come again, my luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.

Writergirls Corner™ 1998, 1999
by Jennifer aka Writergirl - Webmistress
Site Created with magic and a wee bit of Irish luck on August 4, 1998.
Last Updated Thursday, July 01, 2004
No unauthorized duplication of my graphics
Images are digitally watermarked
Writergirls Corner™ has been optimized for 800 x 600
monitor resolution and for 16 bit or better color