1247 Love poems

Though I with strange desire To kiss those rosy lips am set on fire, Yet will I cease to crave Sweet touches in such store, As he who long before From Lesbia them in thousands did receive. Heart mine, but once me kiss, And I by that sweet bliss Even swear to cease you to importune more; Poor one no number is; Another word of me ye shall not hear After one kiss, but still one kiss, my dear.

Vinnie Two Crow from the trailer at the school crossroads has walked up through the snow, bringing a loaf of pumpkin bread. Takes her big boots off and sits for coffee.Clem’s always treated us good. —You up here had too much trouble. I open the bread, and she asks about the quilt in my hoop. Stray lightning quilt, charred toys quilt—I don’t need to say that.If you want, she says,I brought some sage along. Good smoke might take away the bad, I told Clem out at the barn. —If you got an old bowl or something to burn it in.

Knocks on the door. Who? I sweep the dust of my loneliness under the rug. I arrange a smile and open.

O quam te memorem virgo ... Stand on the highest pavement of the stair— Lean on a garden urn— Weave, weave the sunlight in your hair— Clasp your flowers to you with a pained surprise— Fling them to the ground and turn With a fugitive resentment in your eyes: But weave, weave the sunlight in your hair. So I would have had him leave, So I would have had her stand and grieve, So he would have left As the soul leaves the body torn and bruised, As the mind deserts the body it has used. I should find Some way incomparably light and deft, Some way we both should understand, Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of the hand. She turned away, but with the autumn weather Compelled my imagination many days, Many days and many hours: Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers. And I wonder how they should have been together! I should have lost a gesture and a pose. Sometimes these cogitations still amaze The troubled midnight and the noon’s repose.

Love is the kindest expression of absence— Or else is a day by the river, in which by motion it becomes clear— there have been in an hour an infinite train of rivers,& which did you want to see? One comes slowly to realize there is no evading things (the heart will have its way, though its will go unfulfilled), & there is no shame in this. The pleasures in this world— soft breeze, soft thighs, a bit of music, words that make a good sound— suggest when taken whole that the thing the body longs for is not & never has been some petite mort, a true thing known to grass & the elderly man with a kind word in greeting. And the woman saying that she is about to come, as in going to arrive— at last to fill the body held so long by stewards in her name.

Ladies, who of my lord would fain be told, Picture a gentle knight, full sweet to see, Though young in years, in wisdom passing old, Model of glory and of valiancy; Fair-haired, bright colour glowing in his face, Tall and well-set, broad-shouldered, finally, In all his parts a paragon of grace Except in loving wantonly, ah me! Who'd know myself, picture a woman wrought In passion and in presence after pain's And death's own bitter images, a port Of safety where untroubled rest remains; One who with neither tears, nor sighs, nor zest Wakes pity in her cruel lover's breast.

As my mother’s memory dims she’s losing her sense of smell and can’t remember the toast blackening the kitchen with smoke or sniff how nasty the breath of the dog that follows her yet from room to room, unable, himself, to hear his own bark. It’s thus they get around, the wheezing old hound stone deaf baying like a smoke alarm for his amnesiac mistress whose back from petting him is bent forever as they shuffle towards the flaming toaster and split the cindered crisp that’s left.

Her hair was curls of Pleasure and Delight, Which on her brow did cast a glistening light. As lace her bashful eyelids downward hung: A modest countenance o'er her face was flung: Blushes, as coral beads, she strung to wear About her neck, and pendants for each ear: Her gown was by Proportion cut and made, With veins embroidered, with complexion laid, Rich jewels of pure honor she did wear, By noble actions brightened everywhere: Thus dressed, to Fame's great court straightways she went, To dance a brawl with Youth, Love, Mirth, Content.

" Yes !" I answered you last night ; " No !" this morning, Sir, I say ! Colours, seen by candle-light, Will not look the same by day. When the tabors played their best, Lamps above, and laughs below — Love me sounded like a jest, Fit for Yes or fit for No ! Call me false, or call me free — Vow, whatever light may shine, No man on your face shall see Any grief for change on mine. Yet the sin is on us both — Time to dance is not to woo — Wooer light makes fickle troth — Scorn of me recoils on you ! Learn to win a lady's faith Nobly, as the thing is high ; Bravely, as for life and death — With a loyal gravity. Lead her from the festive boards, Point her to the starry skies, Guard her, by your truthful words, Pure from courtship's flatteries. By your truth she shall be true — Ever true, as wives of yore — And her Yes , once said to you, SHALL be Yes for evermore.

Knock knock He has closed his door The garden’s lilies have started to rot So who is the corpse being carried from the house You just knocked on his door And trot trot Trot goes little lady mouse Translated from the French