73 Charming Love Poems For Girlfriends

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Here are my favorite love poems for girlfriends categorized:

  • Love poems for girlfriends from the heart
  • Romantic love poems for girlfriends
  • Poems to make girlfriends feel special
  • Deep love poems for girlfriends

So if you want the best love poems for girlfriends, then you’re in the right place.

Keep reading!

71 Best Love Poems For Your Girlfriend (Handpicked)
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Charming Love Poems For Girlfriends

Express your love and affection for your girlfriend with our curated selection of the best love poems.

From heartwarming love poems that capture the essence of your feelings to deep and meaningful love poems that speak to your soul, you’ll find them all in one place here.

These poems are a perfect way to show your girlfriend how much she means to you and to make her feel special and loved.

Whether you’re celebrating an anniversary, a birthday, or simply want to express your love, these poems offer a timeless and inspiring expression of the magic of love.

Let’s get into it!

My #1 Favorite Poem For Girlfriends

Beautiful woman in long red dress holding white flowers

“Love’s Pictures” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Like the blush upon the rose
When the wooing south wind speaks,
Kissing soft its petals,
Are thy cheeks.

Tender, soft, beseeching, true,
Like the stars that deck the skies
Through the ether sparkling,
Are thine eyes.

Like the song of happy birds,
When the woods with spring rejoice,
In their blithe awak’ning,
Is thy voice.

Like soft threads of clustered silk
O’er thy face so pure and fair,
Sweet in its profusion,
Is thy hair.

Like a fair but fragile vase,
Triumph of the carver’s art,
Graceful formed and slender,–
Thus thou art.

Ah, thy cheek, thine eyes, thy voice,
And thy hair’s delightful wave
Make me, I’ll confess it,
Thy poor slave!

Love Poems for Girlfriends From the Heart

“Night of Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

The moon has left the sky, love,
The stars are hiding now,
And frowning on the world, love,
Night bares her sable brow.

The snow is on the ground, love,
And cold and keen the air is.
I’m singing here to you, love;
You’re dreaming there in Paris.

But this is Nature’s law, love,
Though just it may not seem,
That men should wake to sing, love;
While maidens sleep and dream.

Them care may not molest, love,
Nor stir them from their slumbers,
Though midnight find the swain, love.
Still halting o’er his numbers.

I watch the rosy dawn, love,
Come stealing up the east,
While all things round rejoice, love,
That Night her reign has ceased.

The lark will soon be heard, love,
And on his way be winging;
When Nature’s poets, wake, love,
Why should a man be singing?

“She Walks in Beauty, Like the Night” by Lord Byron

“She walks in beauty, like the night”
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meets in her aspect and her eyes;
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which Heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress
Or softly lightens o’er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek and o’er that brow
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,—
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent.

“A Southern Girl” by Madison Julius Cawein

Serious but smiling, stately and serene,
And dreamier than a flower;
A girl in whom all sympathies convene
As perfumes in a bower;
Through whom one feels what soul and heart may mean,
And their resistless power.

Eyes, that commune with the frank skies of truth,
Where thought like starlight curls;
Lips of immortal rose, where love and youth
Nestle like two sweet pearls;
Hair, that suggests the Bible braids of RUTH,
Deeper than any girl’s.

When first I saw you, ‘t was as if within
My soul took shape some song –
Played by a master of the violin –
A music pure and strong,
That rapt my soul above all earthly sin
To heights that know no wrong.

Young lovers embracing while standing on a roadside at sunset

“A Love Song” by Theodosia Garrison

My love it should be silent, being deep—
And being very peaceful should be still—
Still as the utmost depths of ocean keep—
Serenely silent as some mighty hill.

Yet is my love so great it needs must fill
With very joy the inmost heart of me,
The joy of dancing branches on the hill
The joy of leaping waves upon the sea.

“Valentines From An Uncertain Marksman” by Arthur Macy

I send you two kisses
Wrapped up in a rhyme;
From Love’s warm abysses
I send you two kisses;
If one of them misses
Please wait till next time,
And I’ll send you three kisses
Wrapped up in a rhyme.

“Her Beautiful Eyes” by James Whitcomb Riley

O her beautiful eyes! they are as blue as the dew
On the violet’s bloom when the morning is new,
And the light of their love is the gleam of the sun
O’er the meadows of Spring where the quick shadows run:
As the morn shirts the mists and the clouds from the skies –
So I stand in the dawn of her beautiful eyes.

And her beautiful eyes are as midday to me,
When the lily-bell bends with the weight of the bee,
And the throat of the thrush is a-pulse in the heat,
And the senses are drugged with the subtle and sweet
And delirious breaths of the air’s lullabies –
So I swoon in the noon of her beautiful eyes.

O her beautiful eyes! they have smitten mine own
As a glory glanced down from the glare of The Throne;
And I reel, and I falter and fall, as afar
Fell the shepherds that looked on the mystical Star,
And yet dazed in the tidings that bade them arise –
So I grope through the night of her beautiful eyes.

Red love lock with heart symbol, locked on a bridge rail.

“Love’s Ritual” by Charles Hanson Towne

Breathe me the ancient words when I shall find
Your spirit mine; if, seeking you, life wins
New wonder, with old splendor let us bind
Our hearts when Love’s high sacrament begins.

Exalt my soul with pomp and pageantry,
Sing the eternal songs all lovers sing;
Yea, when you come, gold let our vestments be,
And lamps of silver let us softly swing.

But if at last, (hark how I whisper, Love!)
You from my temple and from me should turn,
I pray you chant no psalm my grief above,
Over the body of Pain let no light burn.

Go forth in silence, quiet as a dove,
Drift, with no sign, from our exultant place;
We need no Ite at the death of Love,
And none should come to look on Love’s white face.

“That Day You Came” by Lizette Woodworth Reese

Such special sweetness was about
That day God sent you here,
I knew the lavender was out,
And it was mid of year.

Their common way the great winds blew,
The ships sailed out to sea;
Yet ere that day was spent I knew
Mine own had come to me.

As after song some snatch of tune
Lurks still in grass or bough,
So, somewhat of the end o’ June
Lurks in each weather now.

The young year sets the buds astir,
The old year strips the trees;
But ever in my lavender
I hear the brawling bees.

“Triumph of Charis” by Ben Jonson

See the chariot at hand here of Love!
Wherein my lady rideth!
Each that draws is a swan, or a dove,
And well the car Love guideth.
As she goes, all hearts do duty
Unto her beauty.
And, enamored, do wish, so they might
But enjoy such a sight,
That they still were to run by her side
Through swords, through seas, whither she would ride.

Do but look on her eyes! they do light
All that Love’s world compriseth;
Do but look on her hair! it is bright
As Love’s star when it riseth!
Do but mark, her forehead’s smoother
Than words that soothe her!
And from her arched brows such a grace
Sheds itself through the face,
As alone there triumphs to the life,
All the gain, all the good, of the elements’ strife.

Have you seen but a bright lily grow,
Before rude hands have touched it?
Have you marked but the fall of the snow,
Before the soil hath smutched it?
Have you felt the wool of the beaver?
Or swan’s down ever?
Or have smelt o’ the bud of the brier?
Or the nard i’ the fire?
Or have tasted the bag of the bee?
Oh, so white! oh, so soft! oh, so sweet is she.

“Cupid and Campaspe” by John Lyly

Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses,—Cupid paid;
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother’s doves, and team of sparrows,—
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on ’s cheek (but none knows how);
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin,—
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes;
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love! has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?

“Morning Song Of Love” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Darling, my darling, my heart is on the wing,
It flies to thee this morning like a bird,
Like happy birds in springtime my spirits soar and sing,
The same sweet song thine ears have often heard.

The sun is in my window, the shadow on the lea,
The wind is moving in the branches green,
And all my life, my darling, is turning unto thee,
And kneeling at thy feet, my own, my queen.

The golden bells are ringing across the distant hill,
Their merry peals come to me soft and clear,
But in my heart’s deep chapel all incense-filled and still
A sweeter bell is sounding for thee, dear.

The bell of love invites thee to come and seek the shrine
Whose altar is erected unto thee,
The offerings, the sacrifice, the prayers, the chants are thine,
And I, my love, thy humble priest will be.

“The Nymph’s Reply” by Sir Walter Raleigh

If all the world and love were young,
And truth in every shepherd’s tongue,
These pretty pleasures might me move
To live with thee, and be thy love.

Time drives the flocks from field to fold,
When rivers rage and rocks grow cold;
And Philomel becometh dumb,
The rest complain of cares to come.

The flowers do fade, and wanton fields
To wayward winter reckoning yields;
A honey tongue, a heart of gall,
Is fancy’s spring, but sorrow’s fall.

Thy gown, thy shoes, thy beds of roses,
Thy cap, the kirtle, and thy posies,
Soon break, soon wither, soon forgotten,
In folly ripe, in reason rotten.

Thy belt of straw and ivy buds,
Thy coral clasps and amber studs;
All these in me no means can move
To come to thee and be thy love.

But could youth last, and love still breed,
Had joys no date, nor age no need,
Then these delights my mind might move
To live with thee and be thy love.

beautiful blonde in a purple dress in a blossoming peach garden

“Verses Written in an Album” by Thomas Moore

Here is one leaf reserved for me,
From all thy sweet memorials free;
And here my simple song might tell
The feelings thou must guess so well.
But could I thus, within thy mind,
One little vacant corner find,
Where no impression yet is seen,
Where no memorial yet has been,
O, it should be my sweetest care
To write my name forever there!

“The Shape Alone Let Others Prize” by Mark Akenside

The shape alone let others prize,
The features of the fair:
I look for spirit in her eyes,
And meaning in her air.

A damask cheek, an ivory arm,
Shall ne’er my wishes win:
Give me an animated form,
That speaks a mind within.

A face where awful honor shines,
Where sense and sweetness move,
And angel innocence refines
The tenderness of love.

These are the soul of beauty’s frame;
Without whose vital aid
Unfinished all her features seem,
And all her roses dead.

But ah! where both their charms unite,
How perfect is the view,
With every image of delight,
With graces ever new:

Of power to charm the greatest woe,
The wildest rage control,
Diffusing mildness o’er the brow,
And rapture through the soul.

Their power but faintly to express
All language must despair;
But go, behold Arpasia’s face,
And read it perfect there.

“To Julia” by Robert Herrick

Her eyes the glow-worme lend thee,
The shooting-starres attend thee,
And the elves also,
Whose little eyes glow
Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

No Will-o’-th’-wispe mislight thee,
Nor snake nor slow-worm bite thee;
But on thy way,
Not making stay,
Since ghost there ’s none t’ affright thee!

Let not the darke thee cumber;
What though the moon does slumber?
The stars of the night
Will lend thee their light,
Like tapers cleare, without number.

Then, Julia, let me woo thee,
Thus, thus to come unto me;
And when I shall meet
Thy silvery feet,
My soule I ’le pour into thee!

Couple holding hands while walking outdoor in winter

“Love in the Winds” by Richard Hovey

When I am standing on a mountain crest,
Or hold the tiller in the dashing spray,
My love of you leaps foaming in my breast,
Shouts with the winds and sweeps to their foray;
My heart bounds with the horses of the sea,
And plunges in the wild ride of the night,
Flaunts in the teeth of tempest the large glee
That rides out Fate and welcomes gods to fight.
Ho, love, I laugh aloud for love of you,
Glad that our love is fellow to rough weather,—
No fretful orchid hothoused from the dew,
But hale and hardy as the highland heather,
Rejoicing in the wind that stings and thrills,
Comrade of ocean, playmate of the hills.

“Echoes” by Thomas Moore

How sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night
When, roused by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away o’er lawns and lakes
Goes answering light!

Yet Love hath echoes truer far
And far more sweet
Than e’er, beneath the moonlight’s star,
Of horn or lute or soft guitar
The songs repeat.

’T is when the sigh,—in youth sincere
And only then,
The sigh that ’s breathed for one to hear—
Is by that one, that only Dear,
Breathed back again.

“When Do I See Thee Most?” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti

When do I see thee most, belovèd one?
When in the light the spirits of mine eyes
Before thy face, their altar, solemnize
The worship of that Love through thee made known?
Or when, in the dusk hours (we two alone),
Close-kissed, and eloquent of still replies
Thy twilight-hidden glimmering visage lies,
And my soul only sees thy soul its own?
O love, my love! if I no more should see
Thyself, nor on the earth the shadow of thee,
Nor image of thine eyes in any spring,—
How then should sound upon Life’s darkening slope
The ground-whirl of the perished leaves of Hope,
The wind of Death’s imperishable wing!

Hands man and woman holding glasses of wine having romantic candlelight dinner at table at home.

“Last Night” by Christian Winther (Théophile Julius Henry Marzials, Translator)

Last night the nightingale waked me,
Last night when all was still;
It sang in the golden moonlight
From out the woodland hill.
I opened the window gently,
And all was dreamy dew—
And oh! the bird, my darling,
Was singing, singing of you!

I think of you in the day-time;
I dream of you by night—
I wake—would you were near me,
And hot tears blind my sight.
I hear a sigh in the lime-tree,
The wind is floating through,
And oh! the night, my darling,
Is longing, longing for you.

Nor think I can forget you!
I could not though I would!
I see you in all around me,—
The stream, the night, the wood;
The flowers that sleep so gently,
The stars above the blue,
Oh! heaven itself, my darling,
Is praying, praying for you.

“Forget Thee?” by John Moultrie

“Forget thee?”—If to dream by night, and muse on thee by day,
If all the worship, deep and wild, a poet’s heart can pay,
If prayers in absence breathed for thee to Heaven’s protecting power,
If wingèd thoughts that flit to thee—a thousand in an hour,
If busy Fancy blending thee with all my future lot—
If this thou call’st “forgetting,” thou indeed shalt be forgot!

“Forget thee?”—Bid the forest-birds forget their sweetest tune;
“Forget thee?”—Bid the sea forget to swell beneath the moon;
Bid the thirsty flowers forget to drink the eve’s refreshing dew;
Thyself forget thine “own dear land,” and its “mountains wild and blue;”
Forget each old familiar face, each long-remembered spot;—
When these things are forgot by thee, then thou shalt be forgot!

Keep, if thou wilt, thy maiden peace, still calm and fancy-free,
For God forbid thy gladsome heart should grow less glad for me;
Yet, while that heart is still unwon, O, bid not mine to rove,
But let it nurse its humble faith and uncomplaining love;
If these, preserved for patient years, at last avail me not,
Forget me then;—but ne’er believe that thou canst be forgot!

“Summer Days” by Wathen Marks Wilks Call

In summer, when the days were long,
We walked together in the wood:
Our heart was light, our steps were strong;
Sweet flutterings were there in our blood,
In summer, when the days were long.

We strayed from morn till evening came;
We gathered flowers, and wove us crowns;
We walked mid poppies red as flame,
Or sat upon the yellow downs;
And always wished our life the same.

In summer, when the days were long,
We leaped the hedge-row, crossed the brook;
And still her voice flowed forth in song,
Or else she read some graceful book,
In summer, when the days were long.

And then we sat beneath the trees,
With shadows lessening in the noon;
And in the sunlight and the breeze,
We feasted many a gorgeous June,
While larks were singing o’er the leas.

In summer, when the days were long,
On dainty chicken, snow-white bread,
We feasted, with no grace but song;
We plucked wild strawberries, ripe and red,
In summer, when the days were long.

We loved, and yet we knew it not,—
For loving seemed like breathing then;
We found a heaven in every spot;
Saw angels, too, in all good men;
And dreamed of God in grove and grot.

In summer, when the days are long,
Alone I wander, muse alone.
I see her not; but that old song
Under the fragrant wind is blown,
In summer, when the days are long.

Alone I wander in the wood:
But one fair spirit hears my sighs;
And half I see, so glad and good,
The honest daylight of her eyes,
That charmed me under earlier skies.

In summer, when the days are long,
I love her as we loved of old.
My heart is light, my step is strong;
For love brings back those hours of gold,
In summer, when the days are long.

Romantic Love Poems For Girlfriends

“Meeting at Night” by Robert Browning

The gray sea, and the long black land;
And the yellow half-moon large and low;
And the startling little waves, that leap
In fiery ringlets from their sleep,
As I gain the cove with pushing prow,
And quench its speed in the slushy sand.

Then a mile of warm, sea-scented beach;
Three fields to cross, till a farm appears:
A tap at the pane, the quick sharp scratch
And blue spurt of a lighted match,
And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears,
Than the two hearts, beating each to each.

“Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms” by Thomas Moore

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly to-day,
Were to change by to-morrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear!
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns to her god when she sets
The same look which she turned when he rose!

“The Exchange” by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

We pledged our hearts, my love and I,—
I in my arms the maiden clasping;
I could not tell the reason why,
But, O, I trembled like an aspen!

Her father’s love she bade me gain;
I went, and shook like any reed!
I strove to act the man,—in vain!
We had exchanged our hearts indeed.

Young affectionate couple kissing tenderly.

“Kisses” by William Strode

My love and I for kisses played:
She would keep stakes—I was content;
But when I won, she would be paid;
This made me ask her what she meant.
“Pray since I see,” quoth she, “your wrangling vein,
Take your own kisses; give me mine again.”

“Blind Love” by William Shakespeare

O Me! what eyes hath Love put in my head
Which have no correspondence with true sight;
Or if they have, where is my judgment fled
That censures falsely what they see aright?

If that be fair whereon my false eyes dote,
What means the world to say it is not so?
If it be not, then Love doth well denote
Love’s eye is not so true as all men’s: No,

How can it? O how can Love’s eye be true,
That is so vex’d with watching and with tears?
No marvel then though I mistake my view:
The sun itself sees not till heaven clears.

O cunning Love! with tears thou keep’st me blind,
Lest eyes well-seeing thy foul faults should find!

“To a Lady Admiring Herself in a Looking-Glass” by Thomas Randolph

Fair lady, when you see the grace
Of beauty in your looking-glass;
A stately forehead, smooth and high,
And full of princely majesty;
A sparkling eye no gem so fair,
Whose lustre dims the Cyprian star;
A glorious cheek, divinely sweet,
Wherein both roses kindly meet;
A cherry lip that would entice
Even gods to kiss at any price;
You think no beauty is so rare
That with your shadow might compare;
That your reflection is alone
The thing that men most dote upon.
Madam, alas! your glass doth lie,
And you are much deceived; for I
A beauty know of richer grace
(Sweet, be not angry), ’t is your face.
Hence, then, O, learn more mild to be,
And leave to lay your blame on me:
If me your real substance move,
When you so much your shadow love,
Wise nature would not let your eye
Look on her own bright majesty;
Which, had you once but gazed upon,
You could, except yourself, love none:
What then you cannot love, let me,
That face I can, you cannot see.
Now you have what to love, you ’ll say,
What then is left for me, I pray?
My face, sweet heart, if it please thee;
That which you can, I cannot see,
So either love shall gain his due,
Yours, sweet, in me, and mine in you.

“My Sweetheart’s Face” by John Allan Wyeth

My kingdom is my sweetheart’s face,
And these the boundaries I trace:
Northward her forehead fair;
Beyond a wilderness of auburn hair;
A rosy cheek to east and west;
Her little mouth
The sunny south.
It is the south that I love best.

Her eyes two crystal lakes,
Rippling with light,
Caught from the sun by day,
The stars by night.
The dimples in
Her cheeks and chin
Are snares which Love hath set,
And I have fallen in!

“To a Young Lady” by William Cowper

Sweet stream, that winds through yonder glade,
Apt emblem of a virtuous maid—
Silent and chaste she steals along,
Far from the world’s gay busy throng;
With gentle yet prevailing force,
Intent upon her destined course;
Graceful and useful all she does,
Blessing and blest where’er she goes;
Pure-bosom’d as that watery glass,
And Heaven reflected in her face.

“She Was a Phantom of Delight” by William Wordsworth

She was a Phantom of delight
When first she gleam’d upon my sight;
A lovely Apparition, sent
To be a moment’s ornament:
Her eyes as stars of twilight fair;
Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair;
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful dawn;
A dancing shape, an image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A Spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of virgin liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A creature not too bright or good
For human nature’s daily food,
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A being breathing thoughtful breath,
A traveller between life and death:
The reason firm, the temperate will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;
A perfect Woman, nobly plann’d
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.

Lovers under at colorful umbrella in the rain at night.

“Lovers” by Horace Holley

Whate’er our joy compelled, men’s praise and blame fall hollow,
A voice upon the winds that drown it as they blow:
So fair a vision led, our thought was all to follow;
So strong a passion urged, our will was all to go.

“April Romance” by Ernest Rhys

I saw the sunlight in a leafy place
Bathing itself in liquid green and amber,
Where every flower had tears hid in its petals,
And every leaf was lovely with the rain.

With wondering eyes I saw how leaf and flower
Held up their hands, and trembled with delight,
While on the gleaming bough the alighting bird
Shook its wet wings like something fresh from heaven.

And when it sang, it told how earth to heaven
Was turned; and how the miracle of morning
Had made of leaf and flower a deathless maiden
To be my mate and teach eternity.

She took my hand: I understood each thing
The leaf says to the flower when, both adoring,
See like themselves, leaf-shaped and flower-painted,
The sun descend, to bathe in painted shade.

She led me out—we left the leafy croft,
And its wet fragrance, for the treeless town;
But she picked up a dead leaf in the mud,
And she found flowers in the children’s hair.

Then she was gone—and I am seeking her:
And every time at evening when it rains,
And every time at morning, when the sun
Bathes in the beauty of that leafy place,

Or when he looks into an urchin’s eyes
To see if April tears or smiles are there,
And the wet dust scents summer leagues away,
I hold my breath—the Eternal Maid returns.

“Love Lasts Like a Lily” by Solomon J. D. Fendell

Love lasts like a lily,
Tender on Time’s trail;
Breathing burning beauty,
Fragrant, fine, and frail.

Woman having a great time on her vacation.

“I Have But One Love” by Frank S. Gordon

Pine tree, pine hearts, sigh ye;
Pine boughs, bend low, sigh ye,
Pine tongues sigh ye with me.
Night-long, I have but one dream—
Day-long, death hunts my warrior—
Truth-tree, I have but one love—
Crouched over the war-path steals he,
Lynx on-moving steals he,
Wind words steals he from me.

Heart-tree, I have but one love—
Long the days and weary!
Restless hours and weary,
Hungered, wearied, wake me.
Listener of the maid’s prayer—
Messenger of the heart-beat—
Flute-tree, I have but one call—
Long the days and dreary!
Lone tree, I have but one love—
Hear—me, hear!

“I Have Found My Beloved” by Helen Hoyt

I have found my beloved in the time of apple blossoms—
O pink blossoms, white blossoms, fragrance of love!
I have found my beloved in the time of apple blossoms—
O beauty and fragrance!
Soon will the apples push out their green sides, 5
Soon will they round into happy red—
The boughs of the trees will bend and be weighed down with that ripe burden,
With that rich burden of fruit,
That fragrance of red!

“‘Tis Sweet To Think” by Thomas Moore

‘Tis sweet to think, that, where’er we may rove,
We are sure to find something blissful and dear,
And that, when we’re far from the lips we love,
We’ve but to make love to the lips we are near.
The heart, like a tendril, accustomed to cling,
Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone,
But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing
It can twine with itself, and make closely its own.
Then, oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove,
To be sure to find something, still , that is dear .
And to know, when far from the lips we love,
We’ve but to make love to the lips we are near.

‘Twere a shame when flowers around us rise,
To make light of the rest, if the rose isn’t there ;
And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes,
‘Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair.
Love’s wing and the peacock’s are nearly alike,
They are both of them bright, but they’re changeable too,
And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike,
It will tincture love’s plume with a different hue.
Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove ,
To be sure to find something still that is dear,
And to know, when far from the lips we love,
We’ve but to make love to the lips we are near.

Poems To Make Girlfriends Feel Special

“Lines to a Lady” by George Denison Prentice

Lady, I’ve gazed on thee,
And thou art now a vision of the Past,
A spirit-star, whose holy light is cast
On memory’s voiceless sea.

That star—it lingers there
As beautiful as ’twere a dewy flower,
Soft-wafted down from Eden’s glorious bower,
And floating in mid-air.

It is, that blessed one,
The day-star of my destiny—the first
I e’er could worship as the Persian erst
Worshipped his own loved sun.

On all my years may lie
The shadow of the tempest, their dark flow
Be wild and drear, but that dear star will glow
Still beautiful on high.

“The Beloved” by Louis Untermeyer

You are my holy city, my beloved;
Dark as Jerusalem and bright as Rome.
The gates of you are opened generously
To take the prodigal home.

What foreign towns I knew have never dimmed
The burning memory of your altar-fire;
My backward-hungering heart has always heard
In other songs, your choir.

I kiss your lips and dream of Lebanon!
You are my living Zion; and I rest
Here in the temple of your body’s grace,
Beneath the white wall of your breast.

“Love” by Katrina Trask

O power of Love, O wondrous mystery!
How is my dark illumined by thy light,
That maketh morning of my gloomy night,
Setting my soul from Sorrow’s bondage free
With swift-sent revelation! yea, I see
Beyond the limitation of my sight
And senses, comprehending now, aright,
To-day’s proportion to Eternity.
Through thee, my faith in God is made more sure,
My searching eyes have pierced the misty veil;
The pain and anguish which stern Sorrow brings
Through thee become more easy to endure.
Love-strong I mount; and Heaven’s high summit scale;
Through thee, my soul has spread her folded wings.

Happy young couple with heart-shaped balloons on color background, Valentine's Day celebration.

“A Valentine” by Laura Elizabeth Richards

Oh! little loveliest lady mine,
What shall I send for your valentine?
Summer and flowers are far away;
Gloomy old Winter is king to-day;
Buds will not blow, and sun will not shine:
What shall I do for a valentine?

I ’ve searched the gardens all through and through
For a bud to tell of my love so true;
But buds are asleep, and blossoms are dead,
And the snow beats down on my poor little head:
So, little loveliest lady mine,
Here is my heart for your valentine!

“Loves She Like Me?” by Samuel Woodworth

O say, my flattering heart,
Loves she like me?
Is her’s thy counterpart,
Throbs it like thee?
Does she remember yet
The spot where first we met,
Which I shall ne’er forget,
Loves she like me?

Soft echoes still repeat
“Loves she like me?”
When on that mossy seat,
Beneath the tree,
I wake my amorous lay
While lambkins round me play,
And whispering zephyrs say,
Loves she like me?

On her I think by day,
Loves she like me?
With her in dreams I stray
O’er mead and lea.
My hopes of earthly bliss
Are all comprised in this,
To share her nuptial kiss,—
Loves she like me?

Does absence give her pain?
Loves she like me?
And does she thus arraign
Fortune’s decree?
Does she my name repeat?
Will she with rapture greet
The hour that sees us meet?
Loves she like me?

“Love Unchangeable” by Rufus Dawes

Yes, still I love thee! Time, who sets
His signet on my brow,
And dims my sunken eye, forgets
The heart he could not bow,
Where love, that cannot perish, grows
For one, alas! that little knows
How love may sometimes last,
Like sunshine wasting in the skies,
When clouds are overcast.

The dew-drop hanging o’er the rose,
Within its robe of light,
Can never touch a leaf that blows,
Though seeming to the sight;
And yet it still will linger there,
Like hopeless love without despair,—
A snow-drop in the sun:
A moment finely exquisite,
Alas! but only one.

I would not have thy married heart
Think momently of me;
Nor would I tear the cords apart,
That bind me so to thee;
No! while my thoughts seem pure and mild,
Like dew upon the roses wild,
I would not have thee know
The stream, that seems to thee so still,
Has such a tide below.

Enough that in delicious dreams
I see thee and forget,—
Enough, that when the morning beams
I feel my eyelids wet!
Yet, could I hope, when Time lets fall
The darkness for creation’s pall,
To meet thee,—and to love,—
I would not shrink from aught below,
Nor ask for more above.

“Love Autumnal” by Oliver Jenkins

My love will come in autumn-time
When leaves go spinning to the ground
And wistful stars in heaven chime
With the leaves’ sound.

Then, we shall walk through dusty lanes
And pause beneath low-hanging boughs,
And there, while soft-hued beauty reigns
We’ll make our vows.

Let others seek in spring for sighs
When love flames forth from every seed;
But love that blooms when nature dies
Is love indeed!

“Song” by John Hall Wheelock

All my love for my sweet
I bared one day to her.
Carelessly she took it,
And like a conqueror
She bowed the neck of my soul
To fit it to her yoke,
And bridled the lips of Song—
Fear within me awoke!
But Love cried: “Swiftly, swiftly
Bear her along the road;
Beautiful is the goal
And Beauty is the goad.”

“Modern Love Song” by Robert Nichols

Now that the evenfall is come
And the sun fills the flaring trees,
And everything is mad, lit, dumb,
And in the pauses of the breeze
A far voice seems to call me home
To haven beyond woods and leas—

I feel again how sharply stings
The spell which binds our troubled dust
With hint of divine frustrated things;
The Soul’s deep doubt and desperate trust
That she at sunset shall find wings
To bear her beyond Now and Must.

So place your head against my head
And set your lips upon my lips,
That so I may be comforted;
For ah! the world so from me slips,
To the world-sunset I am sped
Where Soul and Silence come to grips
And Love stands sore-astonishèd.

Romantic couple enjoying at home.

“Songs to a Woman” by Maxwell Bodenheim

You are like startled song-wings against my heart
Which flutters like a harp-string wounded
By too much quivering music.
You cover me with a blue dream-robe
Whose silk ripples out like imaged water….
And when, for a moment, you leave,
I am a black sky awaiting its moon.

If I could be moon-light scattered out
Over the blowing dark-blue hair
Of kneeling, flowing crystal breezes
Breathing a litany of pale odors,
If I could be moonlight scattered out
Over the whispers meeting in your heart,
The marriage of our souls would be
No more complete than now.

Like a delicately absent-minded guest,
Your smile sometimes lingers after
Your lips are solemn.
And once I saw a tear in your eye
Playing hide-and-go-seek with some leaping, dimpled memory.
These things, to me, are like scattered perfume
Wavering down upon my heart.

The struggle of a smile craving birth
Invades her little weeping faun’s face,
And even makes her tear-drops leap….
She smiles as only grief can smile:
A smile like ashes caught within
A tiny whirlwind of light;
When the light goes, the ashes drape her face
Till even her lips seem grey.

Wave your veils to pallid gavottes,
Blow them on with dimly-spiced laughs,
And catch them breathlessly against your breast!
You have prayed too long in your sinking temple—
Night has come, with her fumbling release,
Her moment in which you may play with sad thoughts.
So, wave your veils to pallid gavottes,
Blow them on with dimly-spiced laughs
And catch them breathlessly against your breast.

“Mary, Mary, My Love” by Edward Sapir

Why are you trembling so,
Mary, Mary, my love?
Why are your hands so cold,
Your hands that burn my lips?

And the night is throbbing with us,
Mary, Mary, my love;
But your little hands are cold,
Your hands that have set me aflame.

I know why you tremble so,
Mary, Mary, my love.
I know why your hands are cold,
I see your eyes aflame.

And we are one in the silence,
Mary, Mary, my love.
We are one in your trembling,
One in our hearts aflame.
We are one in the night,
My Mary, Mary, beloved!

“When Love Comes Knocking” by William Henry Gardner

When Love comes knocking at thy gate,
Bid him at once depart:
He will be patient, and will wait
The bidding of thy heart.

Tell him he knocketh there in vain;
That he may ne’er come in:
He ’ll smiling leave, but come again,
Thy loving heart to win.

Then, when at last he knocks in tears,
Oh! open wide Love’s gate:
He ’ll soon forget his foolish fears,
And vow ’t was sweet to wait.

Stylish happy woman.

“My Queen” by William Winter

He loves not well whose love is bold!
I would not have thee come too nigh:
The sun’s gold would not seem pure gold
Unless the sun were in the sky;
To take him thence and chain him near
Would make his beauty disappear.

He keeps his state,—keep thou in thine,
And shine upon me from afar!
So shall I bask in light divine,
That falls from love’s own guiding star;
So shall thy eminence be high,
And so my passion shall not die.

But all my life shall reach its hands
Of lofty longing toward thy face,
And be as one who speechless stands
In rapture at some perfect grace!
My love, my hope, my all shall be
To look to heaven and look to thee!

Thy eyes shall be the heavenly lights;
Thy voice the gentle summer breeze,
What time it sways, on moonlit nights,
The murmuring tops of leafy trees;
And I shall touch thy beauteous form
In June’s red roses, rich and warm.

But thou thyself shalt come not down
From that pure region far above;
But keep thy throne and wear thy crown,
Queen of my heart and queen of love!
A monarch in thy realm complete,
And I a monarch—at thy feet!

“Sonnet” by James Gates Percival

If on the clustering curls of thy dark hair,
And the pure arching of thy polished brow,
We only gaze, we fondly dream that thou
Art one of those bright ministers who bear,
Along the cloudless bosom of the air,
Sweet, solemn words, to which our spirits bow,
With such a holy smile thou lookest now,
And art so soft and delicately fair.

A veil of tender light is mantling o’er thee;
Around thy opening lips young loves are playing;
And crowds of youths, in passionate thought delaying,
Pause, as thou movest by them, to adore thee;
By many a sudden blush and tear betraying
How the heart trembles, when it bends before thee.

“Summer Love” by William Henry Venable

I know ’tis late, but let me stay,
For night is tenderer than day;
Sweet love, dear love, I cannot go;
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.
The birds are in the grove asleep,
The katydids shrill concert keep,
The woodbine breathes a fragrance rare,
To please the dewy, languid air,
The fire-flies twinkle in the vale,
The river shines in moonlight pale:
See yon bright star! choose it for thine,
And call its near companion mine;
Yon air-spun lace above the moon,—
’Twill veil her radiant beauty soon;
And look! a meteor’s dreamy light
Streams mystic through the solemn night.
Ah, life glides swift, like that still fire
How soon our gleams of joy expire.
Who can be sure the present kiss
Is not his last? Make all of this.
I know ’tis late,—dear love, I know;
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.

It cannot be the stealthy day
That turns the orient darkness gray;
Heardst thou? I thought or feared I heard
Vague twitters of some wakeful bird.
Nay, ’twas but summer in her sleep
Low murmuring from the leafy deep.
Fantastic mist obscurely fills
The hollows of Kentucky hills.
The wings of night are swift indeed!
Why makes the jealous morn such speed?
This rose thou wear’st may I not take
For passionate remembrance’ sake?
Press with thy lips its crimson heart.
Yes, blushing rose, we must depart.
A rose cannot return a kiss—
I pay its due with this, and this.
The stars grow faint, they soon will die,
But love fades not nor fails. Good-bye!
Unhappy joy—delicious pain—
We part in love, we meet again.
Good-bye!—the morning dawns—I go;
Dear love, sweet love, I love thee so.

Deep Love Poems For Girlfriends

“To an Autumn Rose” by Charles Fenno Hoffman

Tell her I love her,—love her for those eyes,
Now soft with feeling, radiant now with mirth,
Which, like a lake reflecting autumn skies,
Reveal two heavens here to us on earth,—
The one in which their soulful beauty lies,
And that wherein such soulfulness has birth.
Go to my lady, ere the season flies,
And the rude winter comes thy bloom to blast,—
Go! and with all of eloquence thou hast,
The burning story of my love discover;
And if the theme should fail, alas! to move her,
Tell her when youth’s gay budding time is past,
And summer’s gaudy flowering is over,
Like thee, my love will blossom to the last!

“I Saw a Maiden Sweet and Fair” by Rufus Learsi

I saw a maiden sweet and fair
Of an ancient wand’ring nation,
Her simple garb the signs did bear
Of poor and humble station.

Knew she some other clime but late,
This meek and gentle maiden?
Methought I marked her people’s fate,
On her black tresses laden.

I looked into her great dark eyes,
Demure and sparkling tender;
They gazed serene as May-day skies,
In calm and cloudless splendor.

Yet oft some inner mood would cast
A sadness o’er her glances,
As flits a swallow’s shadow past
A brook where sunlight dances.

“Kissing Her Hair” by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Kissing her hair, I sat against her feet:
Wove and unwove it,—wound, and found it sweet:
Made fast therewith her hands, drew down her eyes,
Deep as deep flowers, and dreamy like dim skies;
With her own tresses bound, and found her fair,—
Kissing her hair.

Sleep were no sweeter than her face to me,—
Sleep of cold sea-bloom under the cold sea:
What pain could get between my face and hers?
What new sweet thing would Love not relish worse?
Unless, perhaps, white Death had kissed me there,—
Kissing her hair.

Close up side view portrait of a lovely female with her boyfriend.

“Not at All, or All in All” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours,
Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers;
Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all.

It is the little rift within the lute,
That by and by will make the music mute,
And ever widening slowly silence all.

The little rift within the lover’s lute
Or little pitted speck in garnered fruit,
That rotting inward, slowly molders all.

It is not worth the keeping: let it go:
But shall it? answer, darling, answer, no.
And trust me not at all or all in all.

“The Indian Serenade” by Percy Bysshe Shelley

I arise from dreams of thee
In the first sweet sleep of night,
When the winds are breathing low,
And the stars are shining bright.
I arise from dreams of thee,
And a spirit in my feet
Has led me—who knows how?—
To thy chamber-window, sweet!

The wandering airs they faint
On the dark, the silent stream,—
The champak odors fail
Like sweet thoughts in a dream;
The nightingale’s complaint,
It dies upon her heart,
As I must die on thine,
O, belovèd as thou art!

O, lift me from the grass!
I die, I faint, I fail!
Let thy love in kisses rain
On my lips and eyelids pale.
My cheek is cold and white, alas!
My heart beats loud and fast:
O, press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last!

“To a Lady” by Park Benjamin

’T is winter now,—but spring will blossom soon,
And flowers will lean to the embracing air,
And the young buds will vie with them to share
Each zephyr’s soft caress; and when the Moon
Bends her new silver bow, as if to fling
Her arrowy lustre through some vapor’s wing,
The streamlets will return the glance of night
From their pure, gliding mirrors, set by spring
Deep in rich frames of clustering chrysolite,
Instead of winter’s crumbled sparks of white.
So, dearest! shall our loves, though frozen now,
By cold unkindness, bloom like buds and flowers,
Like fountain’s flash, for Hope with smiling brow
Tells of a spring whose sweets shall all be ours!

“Love” by Thomas Hood

Love, dearest Lady, such as I would speak,
Lives not within the humor of the eye;—
Not being but an outward phantasy,
That skims the surface of a tinted cheek.
Else it would wane with beauty, and grow weak,—
As if the rose made summer,—and so lie
Amongst the perishable things that die,
Unlike the love which I would give and seek,
Whose health is of no hue to feel decay
With cheeks’ decay, that have a rosy prime.
Love is its own great loveliness alway,
And takes new lustre from the touch of time;
Its bough owns no December and no May,
But bears its blossom into Winter’s clime.

“A Lover’s Sonnet” by C. E. Da Ponte

Hasten, soft wind, and when amid the gay
She moves with eyes of calm and tender light,
And forehead pale as foam-lit waves at night,
And voice harmonious as the warbling lay
Of birds that usher in the fragrant May,
Whisper, soft wind, that she remains the bright
Pure empress of this heart, whose sole delight
Is thus to muse on moments past away;
O, whisper this and tell how little I
Have known of joy since last I saw her face,
How the bright stars, lamps of yon changing sky,
Woods, streams, and every secret place,
Bear witness to my truth; yes, murmur this, then die
On those fair lips, bright opening buds of grace.

“To My Lyre” by Joseph Massel

Wonderful is my love
The love that my songs ye inspire;
My spirit, my flame and my fire,
My trophies, my treasures of old.
My temples, my silver, my gold,
My garden of flowers, my dove,
My comfort, my balm and my lyre
The hopes my years are in ye
More sweet than the world above
And the sweets of the world to be.

“Love” by William James Armitage

Love doth rule each human heart,
All earth’s empires feel his sway;
Nought mortal can escape his dart,
Nor rank nor beauty say him nay.

Love, life’s sun, doth flame the soul,
Even to cowards doth courage give,
Drives out all wintry dearth and dole,
And bids life joyously to live.

But love, divine, which ever lasts,
Draws all its being, strength, and stay,
From that eternal faith which casts
All doubts, all dreads, and death away.

“Nay, Chide Me Not that I am Jealous, Love” by H.

Nay, chide me not that I am jealous, love;
For in my doting fondness I am grown
A very miser of the beauties thrown
Profusely round thee from the gods above:
I ’m even jealous of the pliant glove
Embracing oft thy slight and fairy hand,
And of sly Zephyr, with his whisper bland,
Who steals a-wooing from the budding grove,
And dallies o’er thy cheek with soft caress,
And of the ray that trembles as it glows
Upon thy fresh lips’ loveliness;—
For that dear hand I would with mine enclose,
And lip and cheek I would were mine alone,
And mine the only heart that thou wouldst wish to own.

“To a Violet” by Eric Mackay Yeoman

O Violet! when I look on thy face,
And on the lofty loveliness that lies
In the high sweetness of thy fragile grace
And in the pale blue beauty of thy guise,
Briefly I mark thy charm and darling worth,
Thy shape and painting all so delicate;
And straightway new thoughts lead me from the earth,
And new-known wisdom holds me separate.
I look upon thy beauty’s mystery,
And judge thee fair,—and think no more of thee:
For, as I hold thee in my caring hand,
New things of heaven and earth I understand.

Melancholic beautiful blonde girl in the garden

“Fair Is My Love” by Edmund Spenser

Fair is my love, when her fair golden hairs
With the loose wind ye waving chance to mark;
Fair, when the rose in her red cheeks appears;
Or in her eyes the fire of love does spark.
Fair, when her breast, like a rich-laden bark,
With precious merchandise she forth doth lay;
Fair, when that cloud of pride, which oft doth dark
Her goodly light, with smiles she drives away.
But fairest she, when so she doth display
The gate with pearls and rubies richly dight;
Through which her words so wise do make their way
To bear the message of her gentle sprite.
The rest be works of nature’s wonderment:
But this the work of heart’s astonishment.

“To a Mayflower” by William Edward Marshall

Hath the rude laugh of Boreas frighted thee,
My dainty one, that thou hast sought to hide
Thy loveliness from the young Spring, whose bride
Thou art, and, like a novice, ecstasy
Of life renounce, in this dark monast’ry
Of mossy cells? Nay, my pale beauty, chide
Me not, that I have mocked thy holy pride
With ardent praises of so rare modesty!
For I am come to claim thee, pretty flower,
As a sweet solace for my lady’s eyes,—
That thou—thy vigil past—all in a bower
Of love, may’st blush and bloom in glad surprise;
Happy, that, unawares, thy worth was known,
And all thy fragrance saved for Love alone.

“Sweetest Love, I do not Go” by John Donne

Sweetest love, I do not go
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter love for me;
But since that I
Must die at last, ’tis best
Thus to use myself in jest,
By feignèd death to die.

Yesternight the sun went hence,
And yet is here to-day;
He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way.
Then fear not me,
But believe that I shall make
Hastier journeys, since I take
More wings and spurs than he.

O how feeble is man’s power,
That, if good fortune fall,
Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall.
But come bad chance,
And we join to it our strength,
And we teach it art and length,
Itself o’er us t’ advance.

When thou sigh’st, thou sigh’st no wind,
But sigh’st my soul away;
When thou weep’st, unkindly kind,
My life’s blood doth decay.
It cannot be
That thou lov’st me as thou say’st,
If in thine my life thou waste,
That art the best of me.

Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill.
Destiny may take thy part
And may thy fears fulfil;
But think that we
Are but turned aside to sleep:
They who one another keep
Alive, ne’er parted be.

White roses arrangement on pastel background.

“A White Rose” by John Boyle O’Reilly

The red rose whispers of passion,
And the white rose breathes of love;
O, the red rose is a falcon,
And the white rose is a dove.

But I send you a cream-white rosebud
With a flush on its petal tips;
For the love that is purest and sweetest
Has a kiss of desire on the lips.

“Love’s Omnipresence” by Joshua Sylvester

Were I as base as is the lowly plain,
And you, my Love, as high as heaven above,
Yet should the thoughts of me your humble swain
Ascend to heaven, in honour of my Love.

Were I as high as heaven above the plain,
And you, my Love, as humble and as low
As are the deepest bottoms of the main,
Whereso’er you were, with you my love should go.

Were you the earth, dear Love, and I the skies,
My love should shine on you like to the sun,
And look upon you with ten thousand eyes
Till heaven wax’d blind, and till the world were done.

Whereso’er I am, below, or else above you,
Whereso’er you are, my heart shall truly love you.

“Song” by Robert Crawford

Love, love me only,
Love me for ever;
My life’s been lonely,
A joyless endeavour.
Though earth were heaven,
I in it for ever,
Of thee bereaven—
I’d love again never.

Lifestyle couple of happy romantic hipsters in love.

“So Oft as I Her Beauty do Behold” by Edmund Spenser

So oft as I her beauty do behold,
And therewith do her cruelty compare,
I marvel of what substance was the mould,
The which her made at once so cruel fair,
Not earth, for her high thoughts more heavenly are;
Not water, for her love doth burn like fire;
Not air, for she is not so light or rare;
Not fire, for she doth freeze with faint desire.
Then needs another element inquire
Whereof she mote be made—that is, the sky;
For to the heaven her haughty looks aspire,
And eke her mind is pure immortal high.
Then, sith to heaven ye likened are the best,
Be like in mercy as in all the rest.

“Take, O Take Those Lips Away” by William Shakespeare

Take, O take those lips away
That so sweetly were forsworn,
And those eyes, the break of day,
Lights that do mislead the morn:
But my kisses bring again,
Bring again—
Seals of love, but seal’d in vain,
Seal’d in vain!

“Not A Word” by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt


Love, my heart is faint with waiting,
Faint with hope and joy deferred,
All night long at this sad grating,
Sleepless like a prisoned bird,
Singing low,
Singing slow,
Come, ah! come, love. Not a word!

Love, in vain for thee this token
Did I tie, poor silken cord,
To my window. See, ’tis broken
And the strands fly heavenward.
All are free,
All but me,
Come, ah! come, love. Not a word!

Lo, the first sad streak of morning
Cleaves the heaven like a sword;
Love, too late I hear the warning
Ofthy footstep on the sward.
Yet, ah! yet,
Though ’tis late,
Come; but mind, love, not a word!