Roses are Red, Violets are Blue

Im looking for touching and moving love poems?

Im making a book for my boyfriend. Its going to have love poems in it. Does anyone know some good sites?

Public Comments

1. http://www.poetry.com/greatestpoems/listlove.asp http://www.theotherpages.org/poems/SubjIdx/love.html
2. Edgar Allen Poe
3. Elizabeth Barrett Browning wrote Sonnetts of the Portugese and other love poems. Her husband Robert Browning wrote back to her as well. They are lovely.
4. Try this site, you'll find some great poems there: http://www.poetictimes.com/poems/Love.html I'm also one of the poets.
5. Pablo Neruda, a Chilean poet who won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971, has written numerous poems on the theme of love, whose tonal scope ranged from tender to passionate. Here is a link to a Google scan of a few excerpts from his book "Twenty Love Poems and a Song of Despair." It's an English translation from the original Spanish. http://books.google.com/books?id=EAINB-5wK_cC&dq=pablo+neruda+love+poems&printsec=frontcover&source=web&ots=Fc4Fa2Thmm&sig=jjRO-gFLtJkH1XIgBC5crk4u01o&hl=en#PPP1,M1 If you do an online search on "Pablo Neruda love poems," you'll find plenty more examples. If you'd like some love poems from a woman's perspective, try American poet Adrienne Rich's sonnet sequence "21 Love Poems." She is the recipient of numerous prestigious literary honors, including the National Book Award. Her poems in this sequence are infused with a more modern feminist sensibility, so they are not as romanticized as as "traditional" love poems, but they are arguably more psychologically complex. http://www.geocities.com/lovepoems21/
6. No sites, but two poems, in particular: To His Coy Mistress, by Andrew Marvel Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. We would sit down and think which way To walk, and pass our long love's day; Thou by the Indian Ganges' side Shouldst rubies find; I by the tide Of Humber would complain. I would Love you ten years before the Flood; And you should, if you please, refuse Till the conversion of the Jews. My vegetable love should grow Vaster than empires, and more slow. An hundred years should go to praise Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze; Two hundred to adore each breast, But thirty thousand to the rest; An age at least to every part, And the last age should show your heart. For, lady, you deserve this state, Nor would I love at lower rate. But at my back I always hear Time's winged chariot hurrying near; And yonder all before us lie Deserts of vast eternity. Thy beauty shall no more be found, Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound My echoing song; then worms shall try That long preserv'd virginity, And your quaint honour turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place, But none I think do there embrace. Now therefore, while the youthful hue Sits on thy skin like morning dew, And while thy willing soul transpires At every pore with instant fires, Now let us sport us while we may; And now, like am'rous birds of prey, Rather at once our time devour, Than languish in his slow-chapp'd power. Let us roll all our strength, and all Our sweetness, up into one ball; And tear our pleasures with rough strife Thorough the iron gates of life. Thus, though we cannot make our sun Stand still, yet we will make him run. And, If You Forget Me, by Pablo Neruda: I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little you stop loving me I shall stop loving you little by little. If suddenly you forget me do not look for me, for I shall already have forgotten you. If you think it long and mad, the wind of banners that passes through my life, and you decide to leave me at the shore of the heart where I have roots, remember that on that day, at that hour, I shall lift my arms and my roots will set off to seek another land. But if each day, each hour, you feel that you are destined for me with implacable sweetness, if each day a flower climbs up to your lips to seek me, ah my love, ah my own, in me all that fire is repeated, in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten, my love feeds on your love, beloved, and as long as you live it will be in your arms without leaving mine.
7. 'Funeral Blues' - W.H. Auden