Love-Lily
Between the hands, between the brows,
Between the lips of Love-Lily,
A spirit is born whose birth endows
My blood with fire to burn through me;
Who breathes upon my gazing eyes,
Who laughs and murmurs in mine ear,
At whose least touch my colour flies,
And whom my life grows faint to hear.
Within the voice, within the heart,
Within the mind of Love-Lily,
A spirit is born who lifts apart
His tremulous wings and looks at me;
Who on my mouth his finger lays,
And shows, while whispering lutes confer,
That Eden of Love's watered ways
Whose winds and spirits worship her.
Brows, hands, and lips, heart, mind, and voice,
Kisses and words of Love-Lily,--
Oh! bid me with your joy rejoice
Till riotous longing rest in me!
Ah! let not hope be still distraught,
But find in her its gracious goal,
Whose speech Truth knows not from her thought
Nor Love her body from her soul.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Parted Presence
LOVE, I speak to your heart,
Your heart that is always here.
Oh draw me deep to its sphere,
Though you and I are apart,
And yield, by the spirit's art,
Each distant gift that is dear.
O love, my love, you are here!
Your eyes are afar to-day,
Yet, love, look now in mine eyes.
Two hearts sent forth may despise
All dead things by the way.
All between is decay,
Dead hours and this hour that dies.
O love, look deep in mine eyes!
Your hands to-day are not here,
Yet lay them, love, in my hands.
The hourglass sheds its sands
All day for the dead hours' bier;
But now, as two hearts draw near,
This hour like a flower expands.
O love, your hands in my hands!
Your voice is not on the air,
Yet, love, I can hear your voice:
It bids my heart to rejoice
As knowing your heart is there,—
A music sweet to declare
The truth of your steadfast choice.
O love, how sweet is your voice!
To-day your lips are afar,
Yet draw my lips to them, love.
Around, beneath, and above,
Is frost to bind and to bar;
But where I am and you are,
Desire and the fire thereof.
O kiss me, kiss me, my love!
Your heart is never away,
But ever with mine, for ever,
For ever without endeavour,
To-morrow, love, as to-day;
Two blent hearts never astray,
Two souls no power may sever,
Together, O my love, for ever!
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forsaking My Love
I hate you
I wish to tear you away from me
This tumor that clings to my chest
The thing that makes me ache
That haunts my dreams
And tears at my desires
You have brought me only pain
My untamed heart
That beast that gnaws at my soul
That pitifully whines
Bringing my mind into unwanted pain
Yet how can I blame you
How can I chastise you when I listen intently to your pleas
Why should I punish you for what my eyes feed upon
How can I blame my eyes for falling upon her
She who brings light to the eternal darkness of my soul
She whose eyes bring me to subjection
Whose smile leaves me in awe
How can I blame you when my ears are met with her laughter
How they submerge into her song
How they quiver at her voice
Why should I punish you for inclining my soul
Tempting it with the one sense that has been forsaken by her
How could I look over the thought of the brushing of lips
The touching of hands
The binding of the soul, mind, and body
O you wretched heart
What am I to do with this constant companion
How could I tear you away
When she is the cause of my agony
Or rather
It is the lack of her which brings me sorrow
It is the need for her that leaves my heart in pain
Yet she is not mine
She was never mine
She will never be mine
O my poor heart
How can I make you see reason
When all you do is show me the truth
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poem by Michael Silver
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Song (#3)
MY heart to thy heart,
My hand to thine;
My lips to thy lips,
Kisses are wine
Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;
Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.
Lily to lily,
Rose unto rose;
My love to thy love
Tenderly grows.
Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,
Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Song (#3)
MY heart to thy heart,
My hand to thine;
My lips to thy lips,
Kisses are wine
Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;
Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.
Lily to lily,
Rose unto rose;
My love to thy love
Tenderly grows.
Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,
Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her love is my inspiration
Her love is my inspiration
Love is the inspiration for my heart to sing a tune,
love is the inspiration for my ear to hear,
love is the inspiration for my soul to warm,
love is the inspiration for my mouth to smile,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to glisten.
Love is the inspiration to draw my soul near another
love is the inspiration for my mouth to utter sweet words,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to gaze upon her,
love is the inspiration for my heart to speak out.
Love is the inspiration for need, love is the inspiration for my mouth to touch hers,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to close,
love is the inspiration for my heart to race,
love is the inspiration for my tears to burn.
Love is the inspiration for longing,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to see only her,
love is the inspiration for my heart to cry out,
love is the inspiration for my ear to hear her whispers,
love is the inspiration for my soul to join hers forever.
Love is the inspiration for forever,
love is the inspiration for my heart to be whole,
love is the inspiration for my ear to always hear those words,
love is the inspiration for my soul to have hers,
love is the inpiration for my mouth to speak the truth.
Love is the inspiration for my soul to seek life
love is the inspirationfor my ear to hear her words,
love is the inspiration for my soul to reach for her,
love is the inspiration for my mouth to speak her truths,
love is the inspiration for my eyes to always look upon her first,
For she is the inspiration for my Love.
Nathaniel Cole Buddington
poem by Nathan Buddington
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oh How I love you!
My love I love you
I can't see anyone like you my love
You love is brightening my life
I love the way you look at me,
I love the way you care
My love I love you
I love your beautiful blue eyes
I love your soft lips.
I love you
Oh how I love you!
I do love you.
Love is emotion
Love is gentle
Love is divine
I love you more than words can,
explain.
I love you
Oh how I love you!
I do love you.
I love to hear your voice
I love it when your lips touch mine.
Love is passion
I need you my love
I love you
Oh how I love you!
I love you so much more,
Each and every day.
I love you
Oh how I love you!
poem by Maria Luisa Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bianca
Her cheeks are hot, her cheeks are white;
The white girl hardly breathes to-night,
So faint the pulses come and go,
That waken to a smouldering glow
The morbid faintness of her white.
What drowsing heats of sense, desire
Longing and languorous, the fire
Of what white ashes, subtly mesh
The fascination of her flesh
Into a breathing web of fire?
Only her eyes, only her mouth,
Live, in the agony of drouth,
Athirst for that which may not be:
The desert of virginity
Aches in the hotness of her mouth.
I take her hands into my hands,
Silently, and she understands;
I set my lips upon her lips;
Shuddering to her finger-tips
She strains my hands within her hands.
I set my lips on hers; they close
Into a false and phantom rose;
Upon her thirsting lips I rain
A flood of kisses, and in vain;
Her lips inexorably close.
Through her closed lips that cling to mine,
Her hands that hold me and entwine,
Her body that abondoned lies,
Rigid with sterile ecstasies,
A shiver knits her flesh to mine.
Life sucks into a mist remote
Her fainting lips, her throbbing throat;
Her lips that open to my lips,
And, hot against her finger-tips,
The pulses leaping in her throat.
poem by Arthur Symons
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death
He, born of my girlhood, is dead, while my life is yet young in my heart
Ere the breasts where his baby lips fed have forgotten their softness, we part.
We part. He was mine, he was here, though he travelled by land and by sea,
My son who could trample on fear, my babe who was moulded in me.
As I sat in the darkness, it seemed I could still feel his touch on my head;
He came in the night as I dreamed, and he knelt at the side of my bed;
He murmured the words I had taught when his lips were the lips of a child,
Ere the strength of his arm had been bought and the love that upheld him defiled;
Then my faltering spirit grew bold, and my heart had forgotten its drouth,
And I crooned little songs as of old, till I woke at his kiss on my mouth.
Now waking and sleeping are pain. Nevermore will he kiss, nevermore
Shall I hear his low whistle again at the gate, or his step on the floor,
For to-night he was here while I slept, and this is the end of it all.
Now that welter of darkness has swept us apart, can he come if I call?
Can he come, little chap with the eyes that brought light out of heaven to earth?
Can he come, though the soul of me cries for the joy that I bought by his birth?
I can see but the horror that bids the heart of the mother despair,
The vision that burns on my lids, the face that will always be there,
For he holds out his hands to me, red, and his eyes tell the truth as he stands.
He is dead. He is dead. He is dead. He is dead, with the blood on his hands.
poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Love is the inspiration
Love is the inspiration for the heart to sing a tune,
For the ear to hear,
For the soul to warm,
For the mouth to smile,
For the eyes to glisten.
Love is the inspiration for want,
For the soul to draw near another,
For the mouth to utter sweet words,
For the eyes to gaze upon,
For the heart to speak out.
Love is the inspiration for need,
For the mouth to touch,
For the eyes to close,
For the heart to race,
For the ear to burn.
Love is the inspiration for longing,
For the eyes to see only the one,
For the heart to cry out,
For the ear to hear whispers,
For the soul to join another forever.
Love is the inspiration for forever,
For the heart to be whole,
For the ear to always hear those words,
For the soul to have another,
For the mouth to speak the truth.
Love is the inspiration for the heart to seek God,
For the ear to hear his word,
For the soul to reach for him,
For the mouth to speak his truth,
For the eyes to always look upon him first,
For God is the inspiration for Love.
poem by Rabecca Welch
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Love said.. a paraphrase of a study group on Love
Love said,
I made you
Your body was conceived in love.
Your mind was conceived in love.
Your spirit was conceived in love.
I made your body to stand,
to walk, to dance, to make love
in love.
I made your senses
to touch love, to taste love,
to see love, to find space in love,
to hear love, everywhere
for I made everywhere
I made your mind
to know love’s substance
which no alteration finds,
to know the flow of love,
the fire of love, love in the air,
to hear what love speaks;
to know love in your reason,
to reason love;
to know why love is everywhere;
to know how to find love in hate;
to know why justice, mercy, grace, are love;
to know love in surrender;
to know how love turns faith to love;
to know love’s play in love’s creation;
to know that love is always now;
to know love's neighbour is yourself;
and when least visible,
to know love frees and balances;
to know why all seek love.
I made your spirit and your heart,
I made your very self
as every self
to be Myself; to show Myself;
Love said
I made you.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lily Confidante
Lily! lady of the garden!
Let me press my lip to thine!
Love must tell its story, Lily!
Listen thou to mine.
Two I choose to know the secret --
Thee, and yonder wordless flute;
Dragons watch me, tender Lily,
And thou must be mute.
There's a maiden, and her name is . . .
Hist! was that a rose-leaf fell?
See, the rose is listening, Lily,
And the rose may tell.
Lily-browed and lily-hearted,
She is very dear to me;
Lovely? yes, if being lovely
Is -- resembling thee.
Six to half a score of summers
Make the sweetest of the "teens" --
Not too young to guess, dear Lily,
What a lover means.
Laughing girl, and thoughtful woman,
I am puzzled how to woo --
Shall I praise, or pique her, Lily?
Tell me what to do.
"Silly lover, if thy Lily
Like her sister lilies be,
Thou must woo, if thou wouldst wear her,
With a simple plea.
"Love's the lover's only magic,
Truth the very subtlest art;
Love that feigns, and lips that flatter,
Win no modest heart.
"Like the dewdrop in my bosom,
Be thy guileless language, youth;
Falsehood buyeth falsehood only,
Truth must purchase truth.
"As thou talkest at the fireside,
With the little children by --
As thou prayest in the darkness,
When thy God is nigh --
"With a speech as chaste and gentle,
And such meanings as become
Ear of child, or ear of angel,
Speak, or be thou dumb.
"Woo her thus, and she shall give thee
Of her heart the sinless whole,
All the girl within her bosom,
And her woman's soul."
poem by Henry Timrod
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Is This What Love Is? (200th)
it matters not, if it's in black or white or color.
for in my heart there is no other.
the words that the LORD said to me
turned me around and set me free.
love is a time traveler, it has a beginning
and never an end.
when you're down and feeling sad, it will fill the air
it will take away all your worries and cares.
love becomes like oxygen to your chest
in you it brings out the very best.
it makes you feel like nothing else could exist.
or take away this heavenly bliss.
the palms of your hands get tacky with sweat
and what's to follow will be the best one yet.
your heart begins to race faster than ever before.
worried! you turn and run to the door.
then you hear that voice gently say:
where are you going? why won't you stay?
you turn around and gaze into those eyes
and like a zombie you become hypnotized.
you stammer and stutter, and look for words to say
but your speech just slips away.
then the question enters your mind.
is this what love is?
is everything that is happening to me
because my heart has been set free?
and if this is the one that i've been waiting for
why did i run to the door?
this is the soulmate that i've been searching for
and from this day, i will run no more.
my heart felt like it was on fire
my body ached with desire.
my lips wanted to kiss those lips in front of me
for that was all that i could see.
my arms reached out so that i could embrace
and those lips i wanted to taste.
we were in each others arms faster than i thought
for we found the love we sought.
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lily Adair
On the beryl-rimmed rebecs of Ruby,
Brought fresh from the hyaline streams,
She played, on the banks of the Yuba,
Such songs as she heard in her dreams.
Like the heavens, when the stars from their cyries
Look down through the ebon night air,
Were the groves by the Ouphantic Fairies
Lit up for my Lily Adair—
For my child-like Lily Adair—
For my heaven-born Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.
Like two rose-leaves in sunshine when blowing,
Just curled softly, gently apart,
Were her lips by her passion, while growing
In perfume on the stalk of her heart.
As mild as the sweet influences
Of the Pleiades 'pregning the air—
More mild than the throned Excellencies
Up in heaven, was my Lily Adair—
Was my Christ-like Lily Adair—
Was my lamb-like Lily Adair—
Was my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.
At the birth of this fair virgin Vestal,
She was taken for Venus' child;
And her voice, though like diamond in crystal,
Was not more melodious than mild.
Like the moon in her soft silver splendor,
She was shrined in her own, past compare,
For no Angel in heaven was more tender
Than my beautiful Lily Adair—
Than my dove-like Lily Adair—
Than my saint-like Lily Adair—
Than my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.
Thus she stood on the arabesque borders
Of the beautiful blossoms that blew
On the banks of the crystalline waters,
Every morn, in the diaphane dew.
The flowers, they were radiant with glory,
And shed such perfume on the air,
That my soul, now to want them, feels sorry,
And bleeds for my Lily Adair—
For my much-loved Lily Adair—
For my long-lost Lily Adair—
For my beautiful, dutiful Lily Adair.
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers (1853)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mary Leslie
O Mary Leslie, blithe and shrill
The bugles blew for Spain:
And you below the Castle Hill
Stood in the crowd your lane.
Then hearts were wild to watch us pass,
Yet laith to let us go!
While mine said, 'Fare-ye-well, my lass!'
And yours, 'God keep my Jo!'
Here by the bivouac fire, above
These fields of savage play,
I'll lift my love to meet thy love
Twa thousand miles away,
Where yonder, yonder by the stars,
Nightlong there rins a burn,
And maids with lovers at the wars
May list their wraiths' return.
More careless yet my spirit grows
Of fame, more sick of blood:
But I can think of Badajoz,
And yet that God is good.
Beyond the siege, beyond the stour,
Beyond the sack of towns,
I reach to pluck ae lily-floo'r
Where leaders press for crowns.
O Mary! lily! bow'd and wet
With mair than mornin's rain!
The bugles up the Lawnmarket
Shall sound us home again.
Then fare-ye-well, these foreign lands,
And be damn'd their bitter drouth.
With your dear face between my hands
And the cup held to my mouth,
My love,
It's clean cup to my mouth!
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her...
I can never get my mind off her,
I wonder if she'd mind if i'd,
make her my own,
and never let her go,
hug her tight,
treat her right,
act all polite,
take her on a date,
make sure i'm never late,
kiss her on her lips,
talk about our kids,
Make her feel like princess,
living in a castle,
hope that is not too much hassle,
But i am so blessed,
hope i can be the best,
hold you tight,
have your BR3A$t,
on my chest,
pass the test,
NOW YOUR MINE!
sorry for word spamming: (
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poem by Jordan Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sigh On, Sad Heart, for Love's Eclipse
Sigh on, sad heart, for Love's eclipse
And Beauty's fairest queen,
Though 'tis not for my peasant lips
To soil her name between:
A king might lay his sceptre down,
But I am poor and nought,
The brow should wear a golden crown
That wears her in its thought.
The diamonds glancing in her hair,
Whose sudden beams surprise,
Might bid such humble hopes beware
The glancing of her eyes;
Yet looking once, I look'd too long,
And if my love is sin,
Death follows on the heels of wrong,
And kills the crime within.
Her dress seem'd wove of lily leaves,
It was so pure and fine,
O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,—
But hodden-gray is mine;
And homely hose must step apart,
Where garter'd princes stand,
But may he wear my love at heart
That wins her lily hand!
Alas! there's far from russet frieze
To silks and satin gowns,
But I doubt if God made like degrees
In courtly hearts and clowns.
My father wrong'd a maiden's mirth,
And brought her cheeks to blame,
And all that's lordly of my birth
Is my reproach and shame!
'Tis vain to weep,—'tis vain to sigh,
'Tis vain, this idle speech,
For where her happy pearls do lie,
My tears may never reach;
Yet when I'm gone, e'en lofty pride
May say, of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,
Though all the rest was mean!
My speech is rude,—but speech is weak
Such love as mine to tell,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak,
So, Lady, fare thee well;
I will not wish thy better state
Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.
poem by Thomas Hood
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Touch Of Your Lips
When troubles get me, cares beset me,
And wont let me go.
I turn to you for consolation.
There I find new peace of mind;
To leave behind my woe,
I turn to you as I shall always do.
The touch of your lips upon my brow,
Your lips that are cool and sweet,
Such tenderness lies in their soft caress,
My heart forgets to beat.
*The touch of your hands upon my head,
The love in your eyes a-shine,
And now, at last, the moment divine,
The touch of your lips on mine.
(Instrumental interlude and pick up at *.)
*The touch of your hands upon my head,
The love in your eyes a-shine,
And now, at last, the moment divine,
The touch of your lips on mine.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Changing Hearts
Hard hearts of the human race, desperately in need of God’s Grace,
Not compelled by God’s Truth at all, from being tainted by man’s fall.
The natural mind cannot conceive, Truths from God that we believe,
They don’t look beyond the earth, never experiencing a spiritual birth.
It’s Christ’s Spirit who opens eyes, of those men believed to be wise,
Spiritually blinded by God’s enemy, who preys on hearts relentlessly.
Causing those who are spiritually blind, to close both heart and mind,
To the Eternal things of God above, causing them to refuse His Love.
The Spirit sheds light upon the dark, opening up their mind and heart,
God frees men from earthly creeds, directing hearts to eternal needs.
Through the Spirit of Jesus Christ, some begin reflecting on their life,
Where they will be when life is done, if they finish without God’s Son.
The Christ who came to earth to die, to give life meaning to you and I,
And give a Hope to all who believe; lead by The Spirit they do receive.
Christ leaves it up to men to herald, The Eternal Truth to all the world,
With The Holy Spirit far in the lead, helping many to hear and to heed.
The Holy Spirit truly changes men, in ways that we can’t comprehend,
Even the most darkened of hearts, is moved by Truth that He imparts.
They believe and become born again, to live their lives as Godly men,
Being born anew, from God above, they spiritually grow in God’s Love.
An English Love
Not a rose, or a lily,
But a buttercup
Languishing in a field of gold,
In some English meadow
Waiting to give herself to him.
That boy with the impetuous smile,
And the eyes of Perseus
That hides a spirit, more delicate than any poet’s heart,
But not from her,
For she is more precious than all the songs of the world,
And I am nothing more than an apple.
Lost in an orchard of charades and folly.
She released me, with her lips,
For she is my English Love
Like the chalk streams of England, giving birth to the May fly
Every day is our love, our lifetime,
I celebrate the nightingale, and the wren,
For their song is our song,
Our home, this England, this love,
For my English love, my soul quivers,
Her glances, our hearts together
Her mouth, her soft voice, her touch,
Rivaled only by our meadow,
Where we first kissed,
Where the swallows flew their dance of love,
And where the pheasants strut in all their majesty
Where we shared our poem of Love
Our love, this love, to share a future
To cherish, our hopes, our joy, our dreams,
To cherish this Earth, this Life
For this is my dream,
And I bear my soul to this quest.
I do not care for life’s baubles, nor do I crave fame,
I am not in ore of Beauty, for it is shallow,
A dream, which will haunt the fickle
My love is for you.
Kept safe, among the fields of gold,
Safe in our English meadow,
Waiting for the sun, to seed our love once more
For she makes me more,
Than, I am meant to be
And my poem of love I give to you.
poem by Steven Cooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lily Of The West
When first I came to louisville, some pleasure there to find
A damsel there from lexington was pleasing to my mind
Her rosy cheeks, her ruby lips, like arrows pierced my breast
And the name she bore was flora, the lily of the west.
I courted lovely flora some pleasure for to find
But she turned unto another man whose sore distressed my mind
She robbed me of my liberty, deprived me of my rest
Then go, my lovely flora, the lily of the west.
Away down in yonder shady grove, a man of high degree
Conversin with my flora there, it seemed so strange to me
And the answer that she gave to him it sore did me oppress
I was betrayed by flora, the lily of the west.
I stepped up my rival, dagger in my hand
I seized him by the collar, and bodly made him stand
Seing mad by desperation I pierced him to the breast
All this for lovely flora, the lily of the west.
I had to stand my trial, I had to make my plea
They placed me in the witness box and then commenced on me
Although she swore my life away, deprived me of my rest
Still I love my faithless flora, the lily of the west.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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