63 Restless Poems About Being Lovesick for Her

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Here are my favorite poems about being lovesick for her categorized:

  • Short lovesick poems for her
  • Famous poems about being lovesick for her
  • Poems about longing and lovesickness for her

So if you want the best poems about being lovesick for her, then you’re in the right place.

Let’s get started!

63 Best Poems About Being Lovesick for Her (Handpicked)
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Restless Poems About Being Lovesick for Her

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Get intoxicated with the agonizing emotions that consume our hearts when we’re lovesick for her with these wondrous selection.

Here we got wide-range poems that will transport you to a world where every word is infused with the sweet ache of missing someone so deeply.

Brace yourselves as every line of these carefully selected verses will test the depth of your emotions and the powerful hold that love can have on our souls.

So if you’re in search for works that paint vivid portraits of yearning or just want to reminisce that love you have for her, this collection is here to bring solace.

Ready to enter the labyrinth of lovesickness?

Let’s jump right in!

My #1 Favorite Poem About Being Lovesick for Her

a beautiful young woman with flowers in her hair

“Love-Thoughts In The Night” by Pol De Mont (Jethro Bithell, Translator)

Where shall you lay the grievous sighs
That I sigh for you?
Where shall you lay my love-sick thoughts,
When I fly to you?
Show me, O show me pity!
It is so bleak in the deep of night,
And they wing to you their timid flight
Through the chilly streets of the city.
Open, open your window at last,
Welcome them in from the cold night blast …
Then shut the window and lock the door …
In your night- dress let them hide,
Let them slumber by your side,
Once … —and nevermore?

Where shall you lay the songs I sing,
The songs I sing to you?
Where shall you lay the soul I bring,
The soul I bring to you?
In your night-dress let it hide,
Let it slumber by your side,
As though it were a little child
Grant it, grant it, between the pair
Of your warm breasts, the sweet spot where
Your heart beats wild.
Let your soft hand over it glide,
Cover it close with your deep tender hair …
There let it rest, just one night- tide …
At last, at last, after its long despair.
Soothe its long, long grief while it rests,
Sing o’er and o’er:
“Sleep, little soul, between my breasts …”
Once . . . —and nevermore?

Short Lovesick Poems

a beautiful blonde wearing a flower head wreath outdoor

“The Hearth Fire” by Victor Alexis De La Montagne (Jethro Bithell, Translator)

The hearth fire cast its red light through
The cosy room; and your pale face, too,
As it lay on my shoulder, caught the gleam.
It was a dream of peace, a dream …

Then, to tease me, you held your foot
To the flame … and I seized it fiercely, and put
Your toes to my lips, and kissed them again and again …
And my hands that held them were trembling then ..
And you fell on my neck, love-sick … O sweet
Folly of lovers . . . How should deceit
Dwell in a woman so tender-hearted?
The spring came, and we were parted.

“Sonnets from the Portuguese: XX” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Belovëd, my Belovëd, when I think
That thou wast in the world a year ago,
What time I sat alone here in the snow
And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink
No moment at thy voice, but, link by link,
Went counting all my chains as if that so
They never could fall off at any blow
Struck by thy possible hand,—why, thus I drink
Of life’s great cup of wonder! Wonderful,
Never to feel thee thrill the day or night
With personal act or speech,—nor ever cull
Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white
Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull,
Who cannot guess God’s presence out of sight.

“My Heart Is Heavy” by Sara Teasdale

My heart is heavy with many a song
Like ripe fruit bearing down the tree,
But I can never give you one,
My songs do not belong to me.

Yet in the evening, in the dusk
When moths go to and fro,
In the gray hour if the fruit has fallen,
Take it, no one will know.

a fairytale exotic woman in flower dress looking up in prayer

“Sleepless” by Sara Teasdale

If I could have your arms tonight,
But half the world and the broken sea
Lie between you and me.

The autumn rain reverberates in the courtyard,
Beating all night against the barren stone,
The sound of useless rain in the desolate courtyard
Makes me more alone.

If you were here, if you were only here,
My blood cries out to you all night in vain
As sleepless as the rain.

“When Love Goes” by Sara Teasdale

O mother, I am sick of love,
I cannot laugh nor lift my head,
My bitter dreams have broken me,
I would my love were dead.

“Drink of the draught I brew for thee,
Thou shalt have quiet in its stead.”

Where is the silver in the rain,
Where is the music in the sea,
Where is the bird that sang all day
To break my heart with melody?

“The night thou badst Love fly away,
He hid them all from thee.”

“If You Could Come” by Katharine Lee Bates

My love, my love, if you could come once more
From your high place,
I would not question you for heavenly lore,
But, silent, take the comfort of your face.

I would not ask you if those golden spheres
In love rejoice,
If only our stained star hath sin and tears,
But fill my famished hearing with your voice.

One touch of you were worth a thousand creeds.
My wound is numb
Through toil-pressed, but all night long it bleeds
In aching dreams, and still you cannot come.

a young beautiful woman in a birch wood forest wearing a wreath of daisy on her head

“Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXV” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

A heavy heart, Belovëd, have I borne
From year to year until I saw thy face,
And sorrow after sorrow took the place
Of all those natural joys as lightly worn
As the stringed pearls, each lifted in its turn
By a beating heart at dance-time. Hopes apace
Were changed to long despairs, till God’s own grace
Could scarcely lift above the world forlorn
My heavy heart. Then thou didst bid me bring
And let it drop adown thy calmly great
Deep being! Fast it sinketh, as a thing
Which its own nature does precipitate,
While thine doth close above it, mediating
Betwixt the stars and the unaccomplished fate.

“Love Makes Me Mad” by Richard De Cneudt (Jethro Bithell, Translator)

Love makes me vicious, mad;
I care not for honour a whit.
If the only way is to be bad,
I will come to my love by it.

I will leave all for my love—
Friends, duty, all that to me was sweet ;
Unless an angel from above
Gently guides my feet.

“Alas! That I Could Forget You” by Victor Alexis De La Montagne (Jethro Bithell, Translator)

Alas! that I could forget you,
And not a memory keep;
How vain and empty the hope is!
My suffering has been too deep.

Not that in your wild kisses,
While the course of your swift love ran,
I sought my joy, and found it-
More than is good for a man-

But, that for you I have suffered,
And shed, in the deadly strife,
All the tears that a heart has :
This binds me to you for life.

A romantic red haired lady with charming wavy red hair, dressed in a long white shirt and a wide-brimmed straw hat, sits with a book in a park on a sunny summer day

“Longing” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

If you could sit with me beside the sea to-day,
And whisper with me sweetest dreamings o’er and o’er;
I think I should not find the clouds so dim and gray,
And not so loud the waves complaining at the shore.

If you could sit with me upon the shore to-day,
And hold my hand in yours as in the days of old,
I think I should not mind the chill baptismal spray,
Nor find my hand and heart and all the world so cold.

If you could walk with me upon the strand to-day,
And tell me that my longing love had won your own,
I think all my sad thoughts would then be put away,
And I could give back laughter for the Ocean’s moan!

“Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXIX” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I think of thee!—my thoughts do twine and bud
About thee, as wild vines, about a tree,
Put out broad leaves, and soon there’s nought to see
Except the straggling green which hides the wood.
Yet, O my palm-tree, be it understood
I will not have my thoughts instead of thee
Who art dearer, better! Rather, instantly
Renew thy presence; as a strong tree should,
Rustle thy boughs and set thy trunk all bare,
And let these bands of greenery which insphere thee,
Drop heavily down,—burst, shattered everywhere!
Because, in this deep joy to see and hear thee
And breathe within thy shadow a new air,
I do not think of thee—I am too near thee.

“Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXX” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

I see thine image through my tears to-night,
And yet to-day I saw thee smiling. How
Refer the cause?—Belovëd, is it thou
Or I, who makes me sad? The acolyte
Amid the chanted joy and thankful rite
May so fall flat, with pale insensate brow,
On the altar-stair. I hear thy voice and vow,
Perplexed, uncertain, since thou art out of sight,
As he, in his swooning ears, the choir’s amen.
Belovëd, dost thou love? or did I see all
The glory as I dreamed, and fainted when
Too vehement light dilated my ideal,
For my soul’s eyes? Will that light come again,
As now these tears come—falling hot and real?

an enchanting lady with long curly hair holds in hand a bouquet of wild flowers in light at grass field

“Song Making” by Sara Teasdale

My heart cried like a beaten child
Ceaselessly all night long;
I had to take my own cries
And thread them into a song.

One was a cry at black midnight
And one when the first cock crew,
My heart was like a beaten child,
But no one ever knew.

Life, you have put me in your debt
And I must serve you long,
But oh, the debt is terrible
That must be paid in song.

“What Do I Care” by Sara Teasdale

What do I care, in the dreams and the languor of spring,
That my songs do not show me at all?
For they are a fragrance, and I am a flint and a fire,
I am an answer, they are only a call.

But what do I care, for love will be over so soon,
Let my heart have its say and my mind stand idly by,
For my mind is proud and strong enough to be silent,
It is my heart that makes my songs, not I.

“I Love the Night” by George Pope Morris

I love the night when the moon streams bright
On flowers that drink the dew–
When cascades shout as the stars peep out,
From boundless fields of blue;
But dearer far than moon or star,
Or flowers of gaudy hue,
Or murmuring trills of mountain-rills,
I love, I love, love–you!

I love to stray at the close of the day,
Through groves of forest-trees,
When gushing notes from song-birds’ throats
Are vocal in the breeze.
I love the night–the glorious night–
When hearts beat warm and true;
But far above the night, I love,
I love, I love, love–you!

delicate beautiful young woman enjoys in sun lie in grass

“Sonnet: My Heart Is Sick With Longing, Tho’ I Feed” by Thomas Hood

My heart is sick with longing, tho’ I feed
On hope; Time goes with such a heavy pace
That neither brings nor takes from thy embrace,
As if he slept – forgetting his old speed:
For, as in sunshine only we can read
The march of minutes on the dial’s face,
So in the shadows of this lonely place
There is no love, and Time is dead indeed.
But when, dear lady, I am near thy heart,
Thy smile is time, and then so swift it flies,
It seems we only meet to tear apart,
With aching hands and lingering of eyes.
Alas, alas! that we must learn hours’ flight
By the same light of love that makes them bright!

“Sonnets from the Portuguese: XXXV” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change
That’s hardest. If to conquer love, has tried,
To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove,
For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me—wilt thou? Open thy heart wide,
And fold within, the wet wings of thy dove.

“Absence” by Walter Savage Landor

Here, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change no change I see:
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walk’d by me.

Yes; I forgot; a change there is,
Was it of that you bade me tell?
I catch at times, at times I miss
The sight, the tone, I know so well.

Only two months since you stood here?
Two shortest months? Then tell me why
Voices are harsher than they were,
And tears are longer ere they dry.

Famous Poems About Being Lovesick

a pensive beautiful lady with a diadem enjoys alone time outdoor

“Lost Love” by Robert von Ranke Graves

His eyes are quickened so with grief,
He can watch a grass or leaf
Every instant grow; he can
Clearly through a flint wall see,
Or watch the startled spirit flee
From the throat of a dead man.
Across two counties he can hear,
And catch your words before you speak.
The woodlouse or the maggot’s weak
Clamour rings in his sad ear;
And noise so slight it would surpass
Credence: drinking sound of grass,
Worm-talk, clashing jaws of moth
Chumbling holes in cloth:
The groan of ants who undertake
Gigantic loads for honour’s sake,
Their sinews creak, their breath comes thin:
Whir of spiders when they spin,
And minute whispering, mumbling, sighs
Of idle grubs and flies.
This man is quickened so with grief,
He wanders god-like or like thief
Inside and out, below, above,
Without relief seeking lost love.

“The Heart Of A Song” by George Parsons Lathrop

Dear love, let this my song fly to you:
Perchance forget it came from me.
It shall not vex you, shall not woo you;
But in your breast lie quietly.

Only beware, when once it tarries
I cannot coax it from you, then.
This little song my whole heart carries,
And ne’er will bear it back again.

For if its silent passion grieve you,
My heart would then too heavy grow; –
And it can never, never leave you,
If joy of yours must with it go!

“When Love Is Lost” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

When love is lost, the day sets towards the night,
Albeit the morning sun may still be bright,
And not one cloud-ship sails across the sky.
Yet from the places where it used to lie
Gone is the lustrous glory of the light.

No splendour rests in any mountain height,
No scene spreads fair and beauteous to the sight;
All, all seems dull and dreary to the eye
When love is lost.

Love lends to life its grandeur and its might;
Love goes, and leaves behind it gloom and blight;
Like ghosts of time the pallid hours drag by,
And grief’s one happy thought is that we die.
Ah, what can recompense us for its flight
When love is lost?

Beautiful woman in nature with flowers.

“My Lady Nightingale” by Jean Blewett

I heard you singing in the grove,
My Lady Nightingale;
The thirsty leaves were drinking dew,
And all the sky was pale.

A silence – clear as bells of peace
Your song thrilled on the air,
Each liquid note a thing of joy,
And sweet beyond compare.

Not all of joy – a haunting strain
Of sorrow and of tears,
A note of grief which seemed to voice
The sadness of the years.

‘Twas pure, ’twas clear, ’twas wondrous sweet,
My Lady Nightingale,
Yet subtly sad, the song you sang
When all the sky was pale.

“Lost Love” by Alfred Lord Tennyson

I envy not in any moods
The captive void of noble rage,
The linnet born within the cage,
That never knew the summer woods;

I envy not the beast that takes
His license in the field of time,
Unfetter’d by the sense of crime,
To whom a conscience never wakes;

Nor, what may count itself as blest,
The heart that never plighted troth
But stagnates in the weeds of sloth;
Nor any want-begotten rest.

I hold it true, whate’er befall;
I feel it, when I sorrow most;
‘T is better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.

“When Thou Art Nigh” by Thomas Moore

When thou art nigh, it seems
A new creation round;
The sun hath fairer beams,
The lute a softer sound.
Tho’ thee alone I see,
And hear alone thy sigh,
‘Tis light, ’tis song to me,
Tis all–when thou art nigh.

When thou art nigh, no thought
Of grief comes o’er my heart;
I only think–could aught
But joy be where thou art?
Life seems a waste of breath,
When far from thee I sigh;
And death–ay, even death
Were sweet, if thou wert nigh.

a young lady dressed in traditional clothing and a wreath as she relaxes in the woods

“Absence” by Frances Anne Kemble (Fanny)

What shall I do with all the days and hours
That must be counted ere I see thy face?
How shall I charm the interval that lowers
Between this time and that sweet time of grace?

Shall I in slumber steep each weary sense,
Weary with longing? – shall I flee away
Into past days, and with some fond pretence
Cheat myself to forget the present day?

Shall love for thee lay on my soul the sin
Of casting from me God’s great gift of time;
Shall I these mists of memory locked within,
Leave, and forget, life’s purposes sublime?

Oh! how, or by what means, may I contrive
To bring the hour that brings thee back more near?
How may I teach my drooping hope to live
Until that blessed time, and thou art here?

I’ll tell thee: for thy sake, I will lay hold
Of all good aims, and consecrate to thee,
In worthy deeds, each moment that is told
While thou, beloved one! art far from me.

For thee I will arouse my thoughts to try
All heavenward flights, all high and holy strains;
For thy dear sake I will walk patiently
Through these long hours, nor call their minutes pains.

I will this dreary blank of absence make
A noble task time, and will therein strive
To follow excellence, and to o’ertake
More good than I have won, since yet I live.

So may this doomed time build up in me
A thousand graces which shall thus be thine;
So may my love and longing hallowed be,
And thy dear thought an influence divine.

“Longing” by Sara Teasdale

I am not sorry for my soul
That it must go unsatisfied,
For it can live a thousand times,
Eternity is deep and wide.

I am not sorry for my soul,
But oh, my body that must go
Back to a little drift of dust
Without the joy it longed to know.

“When The Rose Is Faded” by Walter De La Mare

When the rose is faded,
Memory may still dwell on
Her beauty shadowed,
And the sweet smell gone.

That vanishing loveliness,
That burdening breath
No bond of life hath then
Nor grief of death.

‘Tis the immortal thought
Whose passion still
Makes of the changing
The unchangeable.

Oh, thus thy beauty,
Loveliest on earth to me,
Dark with no sorrow, shines
And burns, with Thee.

red-haired woman on a field on a summer evening

“When Twilight Dews” by Thomas Moore

When twilight dews are falling soft
Upon the rosy sea, love,
I watch the star, whose beam so oft
Has lighted me to thee, love.
And thou too, on that orb so dear,
Dost often gaze at even,
And think, tho’ lost for ever here,
Thou’lt yet be mine in heaven.

There’s not a garden walk I tread,
There’s not a flower I see, love,
But brings to mind some hope that’s fled,
Some joy that’s gone with thee, Love.
And still I wish that hour was near,
When, friends and foes forgiven,
The pains, the ills we’ve wept thro’ here
May turn to smiles in heaven.

“If Thou’lt Be Mine” by Thomas Moore

If thou’lt be mine, the treasures of air,
Of earth, and sea, shall lie at thy feet;
Whatever in Fancy’s eye looks fair,
Or in Hope’s sweet music sounds most sweet,
Shall be ours–if thou wilt be mine, love!

Bright flowers shall bloom wherever we rove,
A voice divine shall talk in each stream;
The stars shall look like worlds of love,
And this earth be all one beautiful dream
In our eyes–if thou wilt be mine, love!

And thoughts, whose source is hidden and high,
Like streams, that come from heavenward hills,
Shall keep our hearts, like meads, that lie
To be bathed by those eternal rills,
Ever green, if thou wilt be mine, love!

All this and more the Spirit of Love
Can breathe o’er them, who feel his spells;
That heaven, which forms his home above,
He can make on earth, wherever he dwells,
As thou’lt own.–if thou wilt be mine, love!

“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
Hath led me -who knows how?
To the 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,
Beloved as thou art!

Oh, 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:
Oh! press it close to thine again,
Where it will break at last.

Pretty woman in a flower crown

“Love And Loss” by Madison Julius Cawein

Loss molds our lives in many ways,
And fills our souls with guesses;
Upon our hearts sad hands it lays
Like some grave priest that blesses.

Far better than the love we win,
That earthly passions leaven,
Is love we lose, that knows no sin,
That points the path to Heaven.

Love, whose soft shadow brightens Earth,
Through whom our dreams are nearest;
And loss, through whom we see the worth
Of all that we held dearest.

Not joy it is, but misery
That chastens us, and sorrow;–
Perhaps to make us all that we
Expect beyond To-morrow.

Within that life where time and fate
Are not; that knows no seeming:
That world to which death keeps the gate
Where love and loss sit dreaming.

“Longing” by Emily Dickinson

I envy seas whereon he rides,
I envy spokes of wheels
Of chariots that him convey,
I envy speechless hills

That gaze upon his journey;
How easy all can see
What is forbidden utterly
As heaven, unto me!

I envy nests of sparrows
That dot his distant eaves,
The wealthy fly upon his pane,
The happy, happy leaves

That just abroad his window
Have summer’s leave to be,
The earrings of Pizarro
Could not obtain for me.

I envy light that wakes him,
And bells that boldly ring
To tell him it is noon abroad, —
Myself his noon could bring,

Yet interdict my blossom
And abrogate my bee,
Lest noon in everlasting night
Drop Gabriel and me.

“Waiting and Wishing” by Henry Kendall

I loiter by this surging sea,
Here, by this surging, sooming sea,
Here, by this wailing, wild-faced sea,
Dreaming through the dreamy night;
Yearning for a strange delight!
Will it ever, ever, ever fly to me,
By this surging sea,
By this surging, sooming sea,
By this wailing, wild-faced sea?

I know some gentle spirit lives,
Some loving, lonely spirit lives,
Some melancholy spirit lives,
Walking o’er the earth for me,
Searching round the world for me!
Will she ever, ever, ever hither come?
Where the waters roam,
Where the sobbing waters roam!
Where the raving waters roam!

All worn and wasted by the storms,
All gapped and fractured by the storms,
All split and splintered by the storms,
Overhead the caverns groan,
Gloomy, ghastly caverns groan! –
Will she ever, ever, ever fill this heart?
Peace, O longing heart!
Peace, O longing, beating heart!
Peace, O beating, weary heart!

a lady in a flower crown relaxes on the beach

“When We Shall Meet” by Freeman Edwin Miller

When we shall meet, I strangely know
The mad emotions that shall flow
Across my heart all quivering,
Beneath the raptures he shall bring
From angel years that gladdened so.

And I all shy and silent grow
Beneath his glance of gladness, though
Wild yearnings through my bosom spring,
When we shall meet.

Till joyful tears of passion show,
And to his kind embrace I throw
My heart unworthy, and I cling
With deathless fondness to the king
I worshipped in the Long Ago,
When we shall meet!

“When The Twilight Shadows Deepen” by Lennox Amott

When the twilight shadows deepen and the far-off lands are dim,
And the vesper dirge is stealing like the chant of cherubim,
There’s a prayer within my bosom that’s responsive to the sound,
There’s a thought that springs within me–but ’tis sad and silence-bound.

There’s a sorrow in those shadows as they lengthen on the lawn,
For the joy of life has vanished and its sweetness–all is gone,
And the purple mists of even as they hover o’er the glade
Seem to hush in voiceless gloom the deep recesses of the shade.

Oh thou beyond those heathery hills, beyond those woodlands blue,
Which, as they meet the eastern sky, receive its azure hue,
Ah, must I lonely linger here, where nought but griefs await,
Where life is but one long, long sigh, and all disconsolate?

I’m weeping, yes I’m weeping, with the sun of youth gone down,
With the blossoms of the summer-time all withering and brown,
Thou can’st not know that rending pain, those sobs thou can’st not hear,
Thou can’st not feel those burning throbs whence wells the sparkling tear.

Oh say thou wilt not turn away, oh say we must not part,
Thou would’st not spurn this aching breast, nor crush this breaking heart,
Without thee, what is Life?–a name–in which no life can be,
Oh give me back thy smile, thy tear–’tis all the world to me.

“Ballad: Sigh On, Sad Heart, for Love’s Eclipse” by Thomas Hood

Sigh on, sad heart, for Love’s eclipse
And Beauty’s fairest queen,
Though ’tis not for my peasant lips
To soil her name between:
A king might lay his sceptre down,
But I am poor and nought,
The brow should wear a golden crown
That wears her in its thought.

The diamonds glancing in her hair,
Whose sudden beams surprise,
Might bid such humble hopes beware
The glancing of her eyes;
Yet looking once, I look’d too long,
And if my love is sin,
Death follows on the heels of wrong,
And kills the crime within.

Her dress seem’d wove of lily leaves,
It was so pure and fine,
O lofty wears, and lowly weaves,—
But hodden-gray is mine;
And homely hose must step apart,
Where garter’d princes stand,
But may he wear my love at heart
That wins her lily hand!

Alas! there’s far from russet frieze
To silks and satin gowns,
But I doubt if God made like degrees
In courtly hearts and clowns.
My father wrong’d a maiden’s mirth,
And brought her cheeks to blame,
And all that’s lordly of my birth
Is my reproach and shame!

‘Tis vain to weep,—’tis vain to sigh,
‘Tis vain, this idle speech,
For where her happy pearls do lie,
My tears may never reach;
Yet when I’m gone, e’en lofty pride
May say, of what has been,
His love was nobly born and died,
Though all the rest was mean!

My speech is rude,—but speech is weak
Such love as mine to tell,
Yet had I words, I dare not speak,
So, Lady, fare thee well;
I will not wish thy better state
Was one of low degree,
But I must weep that partial fate
Made such a churl of me.

beautiful princess dressed in green standing on wood dock by the lake

“Absence” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

Good-night, my love, for I have dreamed of thee
In waking dreams, until my soul is lost—
Is lost in passion’s wide and shoreless sea,
Where, like a ship, unruddered, it is tost
Hither and thither at the wild waves’ will.
There is no potent Master’s voice to still
This newer, more tempestuous Galilee!

The stormy petrels of my fancy fly
In warning course across the darkening green,
And, like a frightened bird, my heart doth cry
And seek to find some rock of rest between
The threatening sky and the relentless wave.
It is not length of life that grief doth crave,
But only calm and peace in which to die.

Here let me rest upon this single hope,
For oh, my wings are weary of the wind,
And with its stress no more may strive or cope.
One cry has dulled mine ears, mine eyes are blind,—
Would that o’er all the intervening space,
I might fly forth and see thee face to face.
I fly; I search, but, love, in gloom I grope.

Fly home, far bird, unto thy waiting nest;
Spread thy strong wings above the wind-swept sea.
Beat the grim breeze with thy unruffled breast
Until thou sittest wing to wing with me.
Then, let the past bring up its tales of wrong;
We shall chant low our sweet connubial song,
Till storm and doubt and past no more shall be!

Poems About Longing and Lovesickness

a pretty young woman outdoors relaxes on hay in a barn

“When Stars Are In The Quiet Skies” by Edward Bulwer

When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea!
For thoughts, like waves that glide by night,
Are stillest when they shine.
Mine earthly love lies hushed in light
Beneath the heaven of thine.

There is an hour when angels keep
Familiar watch o’er men,
When coarser souls are wrapped in sleep
Sweet spirit, meet me then!
There is an hour when holy dreams
Through slumber fairest glide,
And in that mystic hour it seems
Thou shouldst be at my side.

My thoughts of thee too sacred are,
For daylight’s common beam;
I can but know thee as my star,
My angel, and my dream!
When stars are in the quiet skies,
Then most I pine for thee;
Bend on me then thy tender eyes,
As stars look on the sea!

“The Heart Unseen” by Richard Le Gallienne

So many times the heart can break,
So many ways,
Yet beat along and beat along
So many days.

A fluttering thing we never see,
And only hear
When some stern doctor to our side
Presses his ear.

Strange hidden thing, that beats and beats
We know not why,
And makes us live, though we indeed
Would rather die.

Mysterious, fighting, loving thing,
So sad, so true –
I would my laughing eyes some day
Might look on you.

“Sonnets from the Portuguese: XLIV” by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

Belovëd, thou hast brought me many flowers
Plucked in the garden, all the summer through,
And winter, and it seemed as if they grew
In this close room, nor missed the sun and showers.
So, in the like name of that love of ours,
Take back these thoughts which here unfolded too,
And which on warm and cold days I withdrew
From my heart’s ground. Indeed, those beds and bowers
Be overgrown with bitter weeds and rue,
And wait thy weeding; yet here’s eglantine,
Here’s ivy!—take them, as I used to do
Thy flowers, and keep them where they shall not pine.
Instruct thine eyes to keep their colours true,
And tell thy soul, their roots are left in mine.

woman dressed in white with flower wreath

“Come To Me, Dearest” by Joseph Brenan

Come to me, dearest, I ’m lonely without thee,
Daytime and night-time, I ’m thinking about thee;
Night-time and daytime, in dreams I behold thee;
Unwelcome the waking which ceases to fold thee.

Come to me, darling, my sorrows to lighten,
Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten;
Come in thy womanhood, meekly and lowly,
Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy.

Swallows will flit round the desolate ruin,
Telling of spring and its joyous renewing;
And thoughts of thy love, and its manifold treasure,
Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure.

O Spring of my spirit, O May of my bosom,
Shine out on my soul, till it bourgeon and blossom;
The waste of my life has a rose-root within it,
And thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it.

Figure that moves like a song through the even;
Features lit up by a reflex of heaven;
Eyes like the skies of poor Erin, our mother,
Where shadow and sunshine are chasing each other;

Smiles coming seldom, but childlike and simple,
Planting in each rosy cheek a sweet dimple;—
O, thanks to the Saviour, that even thy seeming
Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming.

You have been glad when you knew I was gladdened;
Dear, are you sad now to hear I am saddened?
Our hearts ever answer in tune and in time, love,
As octave to octave, and rhyme unto rhyme, love:

I cannot weep but your tears will be flowing,
You cannot smile but my cheek will be glowing;
I would not die without you at my side, love,
You will not linger when I shall have died, love.

Come to me, dear, ere I die of my sorrow,
Rise on my gloom like the sun of to-morrow;
Strong, swift, and fond as the words which I speak, love,
With a song on your lip and a smile on your cheek, love.

Come, for my heart in your absence is weary,—
Haste, for my spirit is sickened and dreary,—
Come to the arms which alone should caress thee,
Come to the heart that is throbbing to press thee!

“What ails this heart o’ mine?” by Susanna Blamire

What ails this heart o’ mine?
What ails this watery ee?
What gars me a’ turn pale as death
When I take leave o’ thee?
When thou art far awa’,
Thou ’lt dearer grow to me;
But change o’ place and change o’ folk
May gar thy fancy jee.

When I gae out at e’en,
Or walk at morning air,
Ilk rustling bush will seem to say
I used to meet thee there:
Then I ’ll sit down and cry,
And live aneath the tree,
And when a leaf fa’s i’ my lap,
I ’ll ca ’t a word frae thee.

I ’ll hie me to the bower
That thou wi’ roses tied,
And where wi’ mony a blushing bud
I strove myself to hide.
I ’ll doat on ilka spot
Where I ha’e been wi’ thee;
And ca’ to mind some kindly word
By ilka burn and tree.

“When All Is Done” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

When all is done, and my last word is said,
And ye who loved me murmur, “He is dead,”
Let no one weep, for fear that I should know,
And sorrow too that ye should sorrow so.

When all is done and in the oozing clay,
Ye lay this cast-off hull of mine away,
Pray not for me, for, after long despair,
The quiet of the grave will be a prayer.

For I have suffered loss and grievous pain,
The hurts of hatred and the world’s disdain,
And wounds so deep that love, well-tried and pure,
Had not the pow’r to ease them or to cure.

When all is done, say not my day is o’er,
And that thro’ night I seek a dimmer shore:
Say rather that my morn has just begun,–
I greet the dawn and not a setting sun,
When all is done.

woman standing at a tree with a wreath on head

“Longing” by Madison Julius Cawein

When rathe wind-flowers many peer
All rain filled at blue April skies,
As on one smiles one’s lady dear
With the big tear-drops in her eyes;

When budded May-apples, I wis,
Be hidden by lone greenwood creeks,
Be bashful as her cheeks we kiss,
Be waxen as her dimpled cheeks;

Then do I pine for happier skies,
Shy wild-flowers fair by hill and burn;
As one for one’s sweet lady’s eyes,
And her white cheeks might pine and yearn.

“Love Lies Bleeding” by Christina Georgina Rossetti

Love that is dead and buried, yesterday
Out of his grave rose up before my face,
No recognition in his look, no trace
Of memory in his eyes dust-dimmed and grey.
While I, remembering, found no word to say,
But felt my quickened heart leap in its place;
Caught afterglow thrown back from long set days,
Caught echoes of all music passed away.
Was this indeed to meet? – I mind me yet
In youth we met when hope and love were quick,
We parted with hope dead, but love alive:
I mind me how we parted then heart sick,
Remembering, loving, hopeless, weak to strive: –
Was this to meet? Not so, we have not met.

“Longing” by Matthew Arnold

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say, My love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

a lady with a wreath on her head holding a bouquet and walking in nature

“Love Me” by Sara Teasdale

Brown-thrush singing all day long
In the leaves above me,
Take my love this April song,
“Love me, love me, love me!”

When he harkens what you say,
Bid him, lest he miss me,
Leave his work or leave his play,
And kiss me, kiss me, kiss me!

“The Hidden Love” by Arthur Hugh Clough

O let me love my love unto myself alone,
And know my knowledge to the world unknown;
No witness to my vision call,
Beholding, unbeheld of all;
And worship Thee, with Thee withdrawn apart,
Whoe’er, Whate’er Thou art,
Within the closest veil of mine own inmost heart.

What is it then to me
If others are inquisitive to see?
Why should I quit my place to go and ask
If other men are working at their task?
Leave my own buried roots to go
And see that brother plants shall grow;
And turn away from Thee, O Thou most Holy Light,
To look if other orbs their orbits keep aright,
Around their proper sun,
Deserting Thee, and being undone.

O let me love my love unto myself alone,
And know my knowledge to the world unknown;
And worship Thee, O hid One, O much sought,
As but man can or ought,
Within the abstracted’st shrine of my least breathed-on thought.

Better it were, thou sayest, to consent;
Feast while we may, and live ere life be spent;
Close up clear eyes, and call the unstable sure,
The unlovely lovely, and the filthy pure;
In self-belyings, self-deceivings roll,
And lose in Action, Passion, Talk, the soul.

Nay, better far to mark off thus much air,
And call it Heaven: place bliss and glory there;
Fix perfect homes in the unsubstantial sky,
And say, what is not, will be by-and-bye.

“Fragrant Memories” by Victor De Meijere (Jethro Bithell, Translator)

Although so pure I saw you in your wealth
Ofgolden hair, wherein I thought to lie
So that my passion’s burning pain should die,
While sacred love should nurse me back to health, —

Although I loved you more than lips could speak,
I said: Not till my heart with cooler blood
Knew its well- being in a stanchless flood
Of mad and rapturous music, would I seek.

But now your love has waned and withered, now
I have forgotten, and only memory
Brings back your face-my heart is nigh to break.

For memories will not wholly set me free,
But frostily hang on my pallid brow.
Dear, would you kiss my cheeks for old times’ sake ?

an elegant lady with long curly hair relaxes on the sofa

“Waiting” by Madison Julius Cawein

Come to the hills, the woods are green –
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet –
There is a brook that flows between
Two mossy trees where we can meet,
Where we can meet and speak unseen.

I hear you laughing in the lane –
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet –
The clover smells of sun and rain
And spreads a carpet for our feet,
Where we can sit and dream again.

Come to the woods, the dusk is here –
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet –
A bird upon the branches near
Sets music to our hearts’ glad beat,
Our hearts that beat with something dear.

I hear your step; the lane is passed; –
The heart is high when LOVE is sweet –
The little stars come bright and fast,
Like happy eyes to see us greet,
To see us greet and kiss at last.

From “Love’s Way” by Martin Swift

Yearning and desolate heart,
Heart of the sea-devoured, unfruitful springs,
Brooding, inactive heart, awake, awake!
For thee is hope, for thee

The silvery bugles call,
Swells the white sail, the silver- winged shaft
Flashes to theeward, and the star of love
Glows in the balmy night,
The melting, amorous night!

“Absence” by Thomas Campbell

‘Tis not the loss of love’s assurance,
It is not doubting what thou art,
But ’tis the too, too long endurance
Of absence, that afflicts my heart.

The fondest thoughts two hearts can cherish,
When each is lonely doom’d to weep,
Are fruits on desert isles that perish,
Or riches buried in the deep.

What though, untouch’d by jealous madness,
Our bosom’s peace may fall to wreck;
Th’ undoubting heart, that breaks with sadness,
Is but more slowly doom’d to break.

Absence! is not the soul torn by it
From more than light, or life, or breath?
‘Tis Lethe’s gloom, but not its quiet,
The pain without the peace of death.

beautiful young woman with blond hair dressed in white and standing under a big tree

“Love Lies Bleeding” by Algernon Charles Swinburne

Love lies bleeding in the bed whereover
Roses lean with smiling mouths or pleading:
Earth lies laughing where the sun’s dart clove her:
Love lies bleeding.

Stately shine his purple plumes, exceeding
Pride of princes: nor shall maid or lover
Find on earth a fairer sign worth heeding.

Yet may love, sore wounded scarce recover
Strength and spirit again, with life receding:
Hope and joy, wind-winged, about him hover:
Love lies bleeding.

“The Years” by Sara Teasdale

To-night I close my eyes and see
A strange procession passing me,
The years before I saw your face
Go by me with a wistful grace;
They pass, the sensitive, shy years,
As one who strives to dance, half blind with tears.

The years went by and never knew
That each one brought me nearer you;
Their path was narrow and apart
And yet it led me to your heart,
Oh, sensitive, shy years, oh, lonely years,
That strove to sing with voices drowned in tears.

“Meeting In Summer” by Madison Julius Cawein

A tranquil bar
Of rosy twilight under dusk’s first star.

A glimmering sound
Of whispering waters over grassy ground.

A sun-sweet smell
Of fresh-reaped hay from dewy field and dell.

A lazy breeze
Jostling the ripeness from the apple-trees.

A vibrant cry,
Passing, then gone, of bullbats in the sky.

And faintly now
The katydid upon the shadowy bough.

And far-off then
The little owl within the lonely glen.

And soon, full soon,
The silvery arrival of the moon.

And, to your door,
The path of roses I have trod before.

And, sweetheart, you!
Among the roses and the moonlit dew.

a beautiful lady with a wreath in her hair

“Love Thee?” by Thomas Moore

Love thee?–so well, so tenderly
Thou’rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,
Were worthless without thee.
Tho’ brimmed with blessings, pure and rare,
Life’s cup before me lay,
Unless thy love were mingled there,
I’d spurn the draft away.
Love thee?–so well, so tenderly,
Thou’rt loved, adored by me,
Fame, fortune, wealth, and liberty,
Are worthless without thee.

Without thy smile, the monarch’s lot
To me were dark and lone,
While, with it, even the humblest cot
Were brighter than his throne.
Those worlds for which the conqueror sighs
For me would have no charms;
My only world thy gentle eyes–
My throne thy circling arms!
Oh, yes, so well, so tenderly
Thou’rt loved, adored by me,
Whole realms of light and liberty
Were worthless without thee.

“The Spell” by Madison Julius Cawein

And we have met but twice or thrice!-
Three times enough to make me love!-
I praised your hair once; then your glove;
Your eyes; your gown;-you were like ice;
And yet this might suffice, my love,
And yet this might suffice.

St. John hath told me what to do:
To search and find the ferns that grow
The fern seed that the faeries know;
Then sprinkle fern seed in my shoe,
And haunt the steps of you, my dear,
And haunt the steps of you.

You’ll see the poppy pods dip here;
The blow-ball of the thistle slip,
And no wind breathing-but my lip
Next to your anxious cheek and ear,
To tell you I am near, my love,
To tell you I am near.

On wood-ways I shall tread your gown-
You’ll know it is no brier!-then
I’ll whisper words of love again,
And smile to see your quick face frown:
And then I’ll kiss it down, my dear,
And then I’ll kiss it down.

And when at home you read or knit,-
Who’ll know it was my hands that blotted
The page?-or all your needles knotted?
When in your rage you cry a bit:
And loud I laugh at it, my love,
And loud I laugh at it.

The secrets that you say in prayer
Right so I’ll hear: and, when you sing,
The name you speak; and whispering
I’ll bend and kiss your mouth and hair,
And tell you I am there, my dear,
And tell you I am there.

Would it were true what people say! –
Would I could find that elfin seed!
Then should I win your love, indeed,
By being near you night and day –
There is no other way, my love,
There is no other way.

Meantime the truth in this is said:
It is my soul that follows you;
It needs no fern seed in the shoe,-
While in the heart love pulses red,
To win you and to wed, my dear,
To win you and to wed.

“Stanzas” by Thomas Hood

Is there a bitter pang for love removed,
O God! The dead love doth not cost more tears
Than the alive, the loving, the beloved –
Not yet, not yet beyond all hopes and fears!
Would I were laid
Under the shade
Of the calm grave, and the long grass of years, –

That love might die with sorrow: – I am sorrow;
And she, that loves me tenderest, doth press
Most poison from my cruel lips, and borrow
Only new anguish from the old caress;
Oh, this world’s grief
Hath no relief

In being wrung from a great happiness.
Would I had never filled thine eyes with love,
For love is only tears: would I had never
Breathed such a curse-like blessing as we prove;
Now, if “Farewell” could bless thee, I would sever!
Would I were laid
Under the shade
Of the cold tomb, and the long grass forever!

a pretty noble lady with long hair sitting on a tree at sunset in the spring

“Song” by Pol De Mont (Jethro Bithell, Translator)

Like a golden dream,
Hangs the last moonbeam
From the darkling trees and bushes,
Though the moon in the West
Now has gone to rest
Down behind the river rushes.

In such lingering wise Flit before mine eyes
Features that I loved and cherished;
My beloved is dead,
But, though years have fled,
In my soul she hath not perished.

As though here she were
Pain remembers her,
In my soul she changeth never;
Never from my heart
Shall my love depart,
She is shrined and worshipped there for ever!

“A Bygone Occasion (Song)” by Thomas Hardy

That night, that night,
That song, that song!
Will such again be evened quite
Through lifetimes long?

No mirth was shown
To outer seers,
But mood to match has not been known
In modern years.

O eyes that smiled,
O lips that lured;
That such would last was one beguiled
To think ensured!

That night, that night,
That song, that song;
O drink to its recalled delight,
Though tears may throng!

“Absence” by Elizabeth Jennings

I visited the place where we last met.
Nothing was changed, the gardens were well-tended,
The fountains sprayed their usual steady jet;
There was no sign that anything had ended
And nothing to instruct me to forget.

The thoughtless birds that shook out of the trees,
Singing an ecstasy I could not share,
Played cunning in my thoughts. Surely in these
Pleasures there could not be a pain to bear
Or any discord shake the level breeze.

It was because the place was just the same
That made your absence seem a savage force,
For under all the gentleness there came
An earthquake tremor: Fountain, birds and grass
Were shaken by my thinking of your name.

Victorian woman in a red dress in the garden

“Song” by Joaquin Miller

There is many a love in the land, my love,
But never a love like this is;
Then kill me dead with your love, my love,
And cover me up with kisses.

So kill me dead and cover me deep
Where never a soul discovers;
Deep in your heart to sleep, to sleep,
In the darlingest tomb of lovers.