Being enamored with someone is a feeling that lights up your soul, filling every moment with warmth and longing.
These 10 poems capture admiration, turning every glance and thought into a tribute to the one who holds your heart.
Let these verses take you on a journey through the highs and quiet moments of admiration.
Keep reading and enjoy the ride!
My favorite poem about admiring someone
#1 “Sonnet 18” by William Shakespeare
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:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed:
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature’s changing course, untrimmed.
But thy eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
Nor shall Death brag thou wanderest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou growest:—
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
“Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” is my favorite for admiring someone because it captures the idea of timeless beauty.
Shakespeare compares the person to a perfect summer day but goes further, saying their beauty will never fade.
I love how it shows admiration as something eternal, outlasting everything.
If you’ve ever felt like someone’s presence is unforgettable, this poem will really hit home.
9 more poems about admiring someone
#2 “Lisa” by Charles G. Blanden
Her heart, her mind, her voice , her looks!
Her hundred virtues sweet as nard!
Could I but set them down in books,
The world would need no other bard,
And I, secure with fadeless bays,
Be hailed immortal through her praise.
#3 “Phillis The Fair” by Nicholoas Breton
On a hill there grows a flower,
Fair befall the dainty sweet!
By that flower there is a bower .
Where the heavenly muses meet.
In that bower there is a chair,
Fringed all about with gold,
Where doth sit the fairest fair
That ever eye did yet behold.
It is Phillis, fair and bright,
She that is the shepherd’s joy,
She that Venus did despite,
And did blind her little boy.
Who would not that face admire?
Who would not this saint adore?
Who would not this sight desire?
Though he thought to see no more.
Thou that art the shepherd’s queen,
Look upon thy love- sick swain;
By thy comfort have been seen
Dead men brought to life again.
#4 “O, Do Not Wanton With Those Eyes” by Ben Jonson
O, do not wanton with those eyes,
Lest I be sick with seeing;
Nor cast them down, but let them rise,
Lest shame destroy their being.
O, be not angry with those fires,
For then their threats will kill me;
Nor look too kind on my desires,
For then my hopes will spill me.
O, do not steep them in thy tears,
For so will sorrow slay me;
Nor spread them as distract with fears;
Mine now enough betray me.
#5 “The Tribute” by Charles Swain
No splendor ‘neath the sky’s proud dome
But serves her for familiar wear;
The far-fetched diamond finds its home
Flashing and smouldering in her hair;
For her the seas their pearls reveal;
Art and strange lands her pomp supply
With purple, chrome, and cochineal,
Ochre, and lapis lazuli;
The worm its golden woof presents ;
Whatever runs, flies , dives, or delves,
All doff for her their ornaments,
Which suit her better than themselves;
And all, by this their power to give
Proving her right to take, proclaim
Her beauty’s clear prerogative
To profit so by Eden’s blame.
#6 “A Violet in her Hair” by Charles Swain
A violet in her lovely hair,
A rose upon her bosom fair!
But O, her eyes
A lovelier violet disclose,
And her ripe lips the sweetest rose
That ’s ’neath the skies.
A lute beneath her graceful hand
Breathes music forth at her command;
But still her tongue
Far richer music calls to birth
Than all the minstrel power on earth
Can give to song.
And thus she moves in tender light,
The purest ray, where all is bright,
Serene, and sweet;
And sheds a graceful influence round,
That hallows e’en the very ground
Beneath her feet!
#7 “Praises For My Francisca” by Charles Baudelaire
With new chords I’ll sing your praises,
Little shoot, because you dally
In the heart’s sweet solitude.
Be into a garland woven,
o my captivating woman
Through whom sins are all absolved!
As I would obliging Lethe,
Let me freely sip your kisses,
So magnetically imbued.
When the storm of all my vices
Put in peril all my pathways,
You, Divinity, appeared,
As redeeming as the Lodestar,
Saviour in our bitter shipwrecks…
On your altar hangs my heart!
Lovely pool that fills with virtue,
Of eternal youth the fountain,
Bring my silent lips to speech!
You have purified the filthy
And have smoothed out all the rudeness,
What was weak, you have made strong.
In my hunger, you’re the tavern,
In the darkness, you’re my lantern
Guide me always in the right.
Now add potency to mankind,
Wholesome bath that is anointed
With the most entrancing scents!
Gleam around my loins and guard them
O thou corselet of virtue
Made of water angel-dyed;
Drinking bowl that gleams with gemstones,
Salted bread and tender morsel,
My Francisca, heaven’s wine!
#8 “My Queen” by Fannie Isabelle Sherrick
A fair sweet blossom is born for you,
A beautiful rose, my queen!
And never was flower so fair as this,
Oh, never so fair, I ween!
A banner is hung in the western sky
Of colors that flash ere they fade and die;
And the rippling waves where the waters run
Are stained with the gold of the summer sun;
The world is so fair for you, my queen,
The world is so fair and true;
And the rose that blossoms to-day, my own,
Is the love that I have for you.
The grasses that spring at your feet, my queen,
Could whisper all day in your ear;
But I stand dumb at your side, my own,
Stilled by my love’s own fear.
Oh, what would you know of my love’s sweet will
The heart speaks most when the lips are still;
And the love that is filling my soul to-day
Is the beautiful blossom you throw away.
But I worship you still, my queen, my queen,
I worship you still, I ween;
For the loveliest blossom on earth I know
Is my beautiful love, my queen!
#9 “To a Virtuous Young Lady” by John Milton
Lady! that in the prime of earliest youth
Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green,
And with those few art eminently seen,
That labour up the Hill of Heavenly Truth,
The better part with Mary and with Ruth
Chosen thou hast, and they that overween,
And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen,
No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth.
Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends
To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light.
And Hope that reaps not shame; therefore be sure,
Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastful friends
Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night,
Hast gained thy entrance, Virgin wise and pure.
#10 “Adriana” by Sir Henry Taylor
ARTEVELDE.- Oh, she is fair!
As fair as Heaven to look upon! as fair
As ever vision of the Virgin blest
That weary pilgrim, resting by the fount
Beneath the palm and dreaming of the tune
Of flowing waters, duped his soul withal.
It was permitted me in my pilgrimage
To rest beside the fount beneath the tree,
Beholding there no vision, but a maid
Whose form was light and graceful as the palm,
Whose heart was pure and jocund as the fount,
And spread a freshness and a verdure round.