Short Love Poems Page 2 |
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They say, roses are red And, violets are blue But I say to you my dear I will always be true. Kate Summers A love like ours cannot compare It is a feeling hard to describe Some people don't ever dare Some people want to bribe. But what we share together Is beyond what I ever dreamed It is a love that lasts forever It is better then what it seemed. Robert Rivers When we fell in love I wondered if it was true My now years later I would never trade you. For what we found in each other Others only dream of You make each day of my life Better than the rest. Robert Rivers I pray my love is shown to you By all the little things I do. I see your love for me Each and every day you see. I thank you for the person you are You are my bright and shining star. And as we age and share our life May we find no strife. Catherine Pulsifer Cute Short Love PoemsLove always compromisesLove forgives and tells no lies Love will make me do All that makes you happy too. Catherine Pulsifer If I could write a love song I would write about you. It would state how my heart longs For all you say and do. Catherine Pulsifer Love is many things It is all the little things. It is the kindness that you show The willingness and helping hand That never ever demands. Your sense of humor Is no rumor You make me laugh Especially when you imitate a giraffe. And trying times we have been through But you have always been true. Thank you my dear With you I have no fear. I will love you forever Through all life's endeavors! Catherine Pulsifer Precious is your love Pure as a snow white dove Together you and me will be That I will surely guarantee. Kate Summers I use to dream what it would be like To find someone with whom I could share Someone who also liked to hike Someone who likes the dare. No here we are happy as can be We fell in love and it is more than a dream. There is no one else I would rather see Crossing the creek on a beam. It is more than hiking now you see It is life together you and me. Catherine Pulsifer Romantic Love PoemsIs This Not LovePoet: Susie M. Betts To kiss that hands that smite, To pray for them that persecute, To hear the voice of blame, And still be mute - Is this not love? To give for evil good, To learn what sacrifice can teach, To be the scoffer's sport Nor strive to make retort To angry speech - Is this not love? To face the harsh world's harms, To brave its bitterness for years, To be an unthanked slave, And gain at last a grave Unwet by tears - Is this not love? It is a splendid thing to think that the woman you really love will never grow old to you. Through the wrinkles of time, through the mask of years, if you really love her, you will always see the face you loved and won. And a woman who really loves a man does not see that he grows old; he is not decrepit to her; he does not tremble; he is not old; she always sees the same gallant gentleman who won her hand and heart. I like to think of it in that way; I like to think that love is eternal. And to love in that way and then go down the hill of life together, and as you go down, hear, perhaps, the laughter of grandchildren, while the birds of joy and love sing once more in the leafless branches of the tree of age. Robert G. Ingersoll Short Valentines PoemsA Valentine, love poemPoet: Eugene Field Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell I love her well. Yes, though she tramples on my heart And rends that bleeding thing apart; And though she rolls a scornful eye On doting me when I go by; And though she scouts at everything Go, Cupid, and my sweetheart tell I love her well. Yes, though she tramples on my heart And rends that bleeding thing apart; And though she rolls a scornful eye On doting me when I go by; And though she scouts at everything As tribute unto her I bring - Apple, banana, caramel - Haste, Cupid, to my love and tell, In spite of all, I love her well! And further say I have a sled Cushioned in blue and painted red! The grocery man has promised I Can "hitch" whenever he goes by - Go, tell her that, and, furthermore, Apprise my sweetheart that a score Of other little girls implore The boon of riding on that sled Painted and hitched, as aforesaid; - And tell her, Cupid, only she Shall ride upon that sled with me! Tell her this all, and further tell I love her well. To My Valentine Poet: Unknown My sweetheart is lovely, a maiden so fair, No wonder my thoughts are ever with her. In work or in pleasure, in rain or in shine, There's none in my heart but my Valentine. "We like someone because. We love someone although." Henri De Montherlant The Beggar's Valentine Poet: Vachel Lindsay Kiss me and comfort my heart, maiden honest and fine. I am the pilgrim boy, lame, but hunting the shrine; Fleeing away from the sweets, seeking the dust and rain, Sworn to the staff and road, scorning pleasure and pain; Nevertheless my mouth would rest like a bird an hour And find in your curls a nest and find in your breast a bower: Nevertheless my eyes would lose themselves in your own, Rivers that seek the sea, angels before the throne: Kiss me and comfort my heart, for love can never be mine: Passion, hunger and pain, these are the only wine Of the pilgrim bound to the road. He would rob no man of his own. Your heart is another's I know, your honor is his alone. The feasts of a long drawn love, the feasts of a wedded life, The harvests of patient years, and hearthstone and children and wife: These are your lords I know. these can never be mine - This is the price I pay for the foolish search for the shrine. This is the price I pay ror the joy of my midnight prayers, Kneeling beneath the moon with hills for my altar stairs; This is the price I pay for the throb of the mystic wings, When the dove of God comes down and beats round my heart and sings; This is the price I pay for the light I shall some day see At the ends of the infinite earth when truth shall come to me. And what if my body die before I meet the truth? The road is dear, more dear than love or life or youth. The road, it is the road, mystical, endless, kind, Mother of visions vast, mother of soul and mind; Mother of all of me but the blood that cries for a mate - That cries for a farewell kiss from the child of God at the gate. |
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