A Glimpse
A glimpse through an interstice caught, Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark'd seated in a corner,
Some poems have survived centuries because they say the unsayable about love. This collection of romantic love poems gathers those enduring voices—verses of passion, longing, and devotion that still feel written for today.
A glimpse through an interstice caught, Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room around the stove late of a winter night, and I unremark'd seated in a corner,
O my Luve is like a red, red rose That's newly sprung in June; O my Luve is like the melody That's sweetly played in tune.
At last I found you, the missing piece of me. You fill the empty spaces and set my spirit free.
Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art— Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart, Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
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 carry your heart with me(i carry it in my heart)i am never without it(anywhere i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done by only me is your doing,my darling)
I loved you first: but afterwards your love Outsoaring mine, sang such a loftier song As drowned the friendly cooings of my dove. Which owes the other most? my love was long,
Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love Which alters when it alteration finds, Or bends with the remover to remove.
The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off. I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
Love is not all: it is not meat nor drink Nor slumber nor a roof against the rain; Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink And rise and sink and rise and sink again;
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date;
She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes;
since feeling is first who pays any attention to the syntax of things will never wholly kiss you;
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond any experience,your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near
The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster
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.
Busy old fool, unruly sun, Why dost thou thus, Through windows, and through curtains call on us? Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
I wonder, by my troth, what thou and I Did, till we loved? Were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
To be in love Is to touch with a lighter hand. In yourself you stretch, you are well. You look at things
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;
Wild Nights – Wild Nights! Were I with thee Wild Nights should be Our luxury!
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Generate My PoemRomance in poetry is not about extravagance; it is about attention. The most romantic love poems ever written share a single quality: they look at the beloved so closely, and describe that looking so precisely, that the reader feels the intensity of it. That is why a four-line verse can be more romantic than a hundred lines of grand declaration. Romance lives in the specifics.
Across the centuries, poets have found endlessly different ways to express the same overwhelming feeling. The Romantic poets of the nineteenth century, including John Keats and Lord Byron, wrote of love as something vast and almost sacred. Modern poets brought love back down to earth—to kitchens, train platforms, and ordinary mornings—and found it just as powerful there. Both traditions still speak to us, which is why a good collection ranges freely between them.
When you are looking for a romantic poem to share, let the feeling guide you rather than the reputation of the poet. Read a few aloud; the right one will make you pause. Romance is contagious, and a poem that moves you is far more likely to move the person you give it to. The sound of the lines matters as much as the meaning, because love poetry is meant to be heard.
Finally, remember that the frame around a poem shapes how it feels. The same verse can be a quiet whisper inside a card or a bold gesture read aloud by candlelight. Choose the poem, then choose the moment—and if you want it to feel entirely your own, add a line or two that only the two of you would understand. That is how a centuries-old poem becomes brand new again.
It is also worth reading widely before you settle on one poem. Romantic poetry spans continents and centuries, from Persian ghazals to Victorian sonnets to spare, modern free verse, and each tradition captures a slightly different shade of longing. Sampling a range will help you recognize the poem that matches your particular love, rather than settling for the first beautiful thing you find. The right poem should feel less like a discovery and more like a recognition—as though it had been waiting for you to find it.