Here are my favorite poems about getting cheated on for her categorized:
- Short poems about getting cheated on for her
- Famous poems about being cheated on for her
- Poems about cheating and heartbreak for her
So if you want the best poems about getting cheated on for her, then you’re in the right place.
Let’s get straight to it!
- 59 Tragic Poems About Hurtful Love For Her
- 77 Moving Poems About Missing Your Love for Her
- 45 Deep Poems About Wanting an Ex Back for Her
- 63 Restless Poems About Being Lovesick for Her
Painful Poems About Getting Cheated On for Her
Few things in the realm of love and relationships are as painful as discovering that one has been cheated on.
The emotional impact of such betrayal can be long-lasting and deeply hurtful.
However, it is from this pain that beautiful and poignant expressions of heartbreak often emerge.
In this collection of poems, let’s delve into the world of betrayal and explore the raw emotions that accompany being deceived by someone you love.
These verses serve as a testament to the resilience of the human spirit and serve as a reminder that even in moments of betrayal, there is still space for healing and personal growth.
Keep reading!
My #1 Favorite Poem About Getting Cheated On for Her
“Union Square” by Sara Teasdale
With the man I love who loves me not,
I walked in the street-lamps’ flare;
We watched the world go home that night
In a flood through Union Square.
I leaned to catch the words he said
That were light as a snowflake falling;
Ah well that he never leaned to hear
The words my heart was calling.
And on we walked and on we walked
Past the fiery lights of the picture shows
Where the girls with thirsty eyes go by
On the errand each man knows.
And on we walked and on we walked,
At the door at last we said good-bye;
I knew by his smile he had not heard
My heart’s unuttered cry.
With the man I love who loves me not
I walked in the street-lamps’ flare
But oh, the girls who can ask for love
In the lights of Union Square.
Why “Union Square” Is My Favorite Poem About Getting Cheated On for Her
In “Union Square,” Sara Teasdale has once again created a simplistic and straightforward approach to telling a heartbreaking tale that resonates with readers from all walks of life.
Each line in this five-stanza masterpiece represents the silent tears of a woman disappointed in love.
I can feel the pain, loneliness, and insecurities she must have felt, even though she is walking beside the man she loves.
Though it isn’t explicitly stated in the poem, “Union Square” is a scene that depicts infidelity in love, and of a man’s inclination to be non-monogamous.
I empathize with the writer of this poem and with women who have had similar experiences.
Short Poems About Getting Cheated On for Her
Here’s a collection of heartfelt short poems that delicately express the emotions of betrayal and resilience, specially crafted for her to find solace and strength in the face of heartbreak.
Let these words serve as a gentle reminder that you are not alone in this journey of healing and self-discovery.
Let’s begin!
“May” by Sara Teasdale
The wind is tossing the lilacs,
The new leaves laugh in the sun,
And the petals fall on the orchard wall,
But for me the spring is done.
Beneath the apple blossoms
I go a wintry way,
For love that smiled in April
Is false to me in May.
“Faults” by Sara Teasdale
They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before,—
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more.
“False Love And True Logic” by Samuel Laman Blanchard
THE DISCONSOLATE
My heart will break, I’m sure it will:
My lover, yes, my favorite, he
Who seemed my own through good and ill,
Has basely turned his back on me.
THE COMFORTER
Ah! silly sorrower, weep no more;
Your lover’s turned his back, we see;
But you had turned his head before,
And now he’s as he ought to be.
“The Lie” by John Donne
Sir, say not that you love, unless you do,
For often lying will dishonour you.
Lady, I love, and therefore love to do,
And will not lie, unless I lie with you.
You say I lie, I say you lie, judge whether;
If we then both do lie, let’s lie together.
“Forsaken And Forlorn” by D. H. Lawrence
The house is silent, it is late at night, I am alone.
From the balcony I can hear the Isar moan,
Can see the white
Rift of the river eerily, between the pines, under a sky of stone.
Some fireflies drift through the middle air Tinily.
I wonder where
Ends this darkness that annihilates me.
“Death And The Youth” by Letitia E. Landon
“Not yet, the flowers are in my path,
The sun is in the sky;
Not yet, my heart is full of hope,
I cannot bear to die.
“Not yet, I never knew till now
How precious life could be;
My heart is full of love, O Death!
I cannot come with thee!”
But Love and Hope, enchanted twain,
Passed in their falsehood by;
Death came again, and then he said,
“I’m ready now to die!”
“Unfortunate Coincidence” by Dorothy Parker
By the time you swear you’re his,
Shivering and sighing,
And he vows his passion is
Infinite, undying—
Lady, make a note of this:
One of you is lying.
“Faith” by Frances Anne Butler
Better trust all, and be deceived,
And weep that trust, and that deceiving;
Than doubt one heart, that if believed,
Had blessed one’s life with true believing.
Oh, in this mocking world, too fast
The doubting fiend o’ertakes our youth!
Better be cheated to the last,
Than loose the blessed hope of truth.
“Ah, Be Not False” by Richard Watson Gilder
Ah, be not false, sweet Splendor!
Be true, be good;
Be wise as thou art tender;
Be all that Beauty should.
Not lightly be thy citadel subdued;
Not ignobly, not untimely.
Take praise in solemn mood;
Take love sublimely.
Famous Poems About Being Cheated On for Her
Let’s explore a collection of powerful and emotional poems that delve into the experience of being cheated on, curated specially for her.
These famous verses will captivate your heart, providing solace and understanding to those who have experienced similar trials in matters of the heart.
Let’s jump right in!
“Only A Woman” by Dinah Mulock Craik
So, the truth’s out. I ‘ll grasp it like a snake, —
It will not slay me. My heart shall not break
Awhile, if only for the children’s sake.
For his too, somewhat. Let him stand unblamed;
None say, he gave me less than honor claimed,
Except — one trifle scarcely worth being named —
The heart. That ‘s gone. The corrupt dead might be
As easily raised up, breathing — fair to see,
As he could bring his whole heart back to me.
I never sought him in coquettish sport,
Or courted him as silly maidens court,
And wonder when the longed-for prize falls short.
I only loved him — any woman would:
But shut my love up till he came and sued,
Then poured it o’er his dry life like a flood.
I was so happy I could make him blest!
So happy that I was his first and best,
As he mine — when he took me to his breast.
Ah me! If only then he had been true!
If for one little year, a month or two,
He had given me love for love, as was my due!
Or had he told me, ere the deed was done,
He only raised me to his heart’s dear throne —
Poor substitute — because his queen was gone!
O, had he whispered, when his sweetest kiss
Was warm upon my mouth in fancied bliss,
He had kissed another woman even as this, —
It were less bitter! Sometimes I could weep
To be thus cheated, like a child asleep: —
Were not my anguish far too dry and deep.
So I built my house upon another’s ground;
Mocked with a heart just caught at the rebound —
A cankered thing that looked so firm and sound.
And when that heart grew colder — colder still,
I, ignorant, tried all duties to fulfil,
Blaming my foolish pain, exacting will,
All — anything but him. It was to be:
The full draught others drink up carelessly
Was made this bitter Tantalus-cup for me.
I say again — he gives me all I claimed,
I and my children never shall be shamed:
He is a just man — he will live unblamed.
Only — O God, O God, to cry for bread,
And get a stone! Daily to lay my head
Upon a bosom where the old love’s dead!
Dead? — Fool! It never lived. It only stirred
Galvanic, like an hour-cold corpse. None heard:
So let me bury it without a word.
He ‘ll keep that other woman from my sight.
I know not if her face be foul or bright;
I only know that it was his delight —
As his was mine: I only know he stands
Pale, at the touch of their long-severed hands,
Then to a flickering smile his lips commands,
Lest I should grieve, or jealous anger show.
He need not. When the ship ‘s gone down, I trow,
We little reck whatever wind may blow.
And so my silent moan begins and ends.
No world’s laugh or world’s taunt, not pity of friends
Or sneer of foes with this my torment blends.
None knows — none heeds. I have a little pride;
Enough to stand up, wife-like, by his side,
With the same smile as when I was a bride.
And I shall take his children to my arms;
They will not miss these fading, worthless charms;
Their kiss — ah! unlike his — all pain disarms.
And haply, as the solemn years go by,
He will think sometimes with regretful sigh,
The other woman was less true than I.
“False” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
False! Good God, I am dreaming!
No, no, it never can be –
You who are so true in seeming,
You, false to your vows and me?
My wife and my fair boy’s mother
The star of my life – my queen –
To yield herself to another
Like some light Magdalene!
Proofs! what are proofs – I defy them!
They never can shake my trust;
If you look in my face and deny them
I will trample them into the dust.
For whenever I read of the glory
Of the realms of Paradise,
I sought for the truth of the story
And found it in your sweet eyes.
Why, you are the shy young creature
I wooed in her maiden grace;
There was purity in each feature,
And my heaven I found in your face.
And, “not only married but mated,”
I would say in my pride and joy;
And our hopes were all consummated
When the angels gave us our boy.
Now you could not blot that beginning
So beautiful, pure and true,
With a record of wicked sinning
As a common woman might do.
Look up in your old frank fashion,
With your smile so free from art;
And say that no guilty passion
Has ever crept into your heart.
How pallid you are, and you tremble!
You are hiding your face from view!
“Tho’ a sinner, you cannot dissemble” –
My God! then the tale is true?
True, and the sun above us
Shines on in the summer skies?
And men say the angels love us,
And that God is good and wise.
Yet he lets a wanton thing like you
Ruin my home and my name!
Get out of my sight or I strike you
Dead in your shameless shame!
No, no, I was wild, I was brutal;
I would not take your life,
For the efforts of death would be futile
To wipe out the sin of a wife.
Wife – why, that word has seemed sainted
I uttered it like a prayer;
And now to think it is tainted –
Christ! how much we can bear!
“Slay you!” my boy’s stained mother –
Nay, that would not punish, or save;
A soul that has outraged another
Finds no sudden peace in the grave.
I will leave you here to remember
The Eden that was your own,
While on toward my life’s December
I walk in the dark alone.
“The Forsaken” by William Wordsworth
The peace which others seek they find;
The heaviest storms not longest last;
Heaven grants even to the guiltiest mind
An amnesty for what is past;
When will my sentence be reversed?
I only pray to know the worst;
And wish as if my heart would burst.
O weary struggle! silent year
Tell seemingly no doubtful tale;
And yet they leave it short, and fear
And hopes are strong and will prevail.
My calmest faith escapes not pain;
And, feeling that the hope in vain,
I think that He will come again.
“Why” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Why do eyes that were tender,
Averted, turn away?
Why has our dear love’s splendour
All faded into gray?
Why is it that lips glow not
That late were all aglow?
I know not, dear, I know not,
I only know ’tis so.
Why do you no more tremble
Now when I kiss your cheek?
Why do we both dissemble
The thoughts we used to speak?
Why is it that words flow not
That used to fondly flow?
I know not, dear, I know not,
I only know ’tis so.
Have we outlived the passion
That late lit earth and sky?
And is this but the fashion
A fond love takes to die?
Is it, that we shall know not
Again love’s rapture glow?
I trust not, sweet, I trust not –
And yet it may be so.
“Make Believe” by Alice Cary
Kiss me, though you make believe;
Kiss me, though I almost know
You are kissing to deceive:
Let the tide one moment flow
Backward ere it rise and break,
Only for poor pity’s sake!
Give me of your flowers one leaf,
Give me ofyour smiles one smile,
Backward roll this tide of grief
Just a moment, though, the while,
I should feel and almost know
You are trifling with my woe.
Whisper to me sweet and low;
Tell me how you sit and weave
Dreams about me, though I know
It is only make believe!
Just a moment, though ‘t is plain
You are jesting with my pain.
“When The Lamp Is Shattered” by Percy Bysshe Shelley
When the lamp is shattered,
The light in the dust lies dead;
When the cloud is scattered,
The rainbow’s glory is shed.
When the lute is broken,
Sweet tones are remembered not;
When the lips have spoken,
Loved accents are soon forgot.
As music and splendor
Survive not the lamp and the lute,
The heart’s echoes render
No song when the spirit is mute,
No song but sad dirges,
Like the wind through a ruined cell,
Or the mournful surges
That ring the dead seaman’s knell.
When hearts have once mingled,
Love first leaves the well-built nest;
The weak one is singled
To endure what it once possest.
O Love! who bewailest
The frailty of all things here,
Why choose you the frailest
For your cradle, your home, and your bier?
Its passions will rock thee
As the storms rock the ravens on high;
Bright reason will mock thee,
Like the sun from a wintry sky.
From thy nest every rafter
Will rot, and thine eagle home
Leave thee naked to laughter,
When leaves fall and cold winds come.
“Renunciation” by Dorothy Parker
Chloe’s hair, no doubt, was brighter;
Lydia’s mouth more sweetly sad;
Hebe’s arms were rather whiter;
Languorous-lidded Helen had
Eyes more blue than e’er the sky was;
Lalage’s was subtler stuff;
Still, you used to think that I was
Fair enough.
Now you’re casting yearning glances
At the pale Penelope;
Cutting in on Claudia’s dances;
Taking Iris out to tea.
Iole you find warm-hearted;
Zoë’s cheek is far from rough—
Don’t you think it’s time we parted? . . .
Fair enough!
“La Vie C’est La Vie” by Jessie Redmon Fauset
On summer afternoons I sit
Quiescent by you in the park
And idly watch the sunbeams gild
And tint the ash-trees’ bark.
Or else I watch the squirrels frisk
And chaffer in the grassy lane;
And all the while I mark your voice
Breaking with love and pain.
I know a woman who would give
Her chance of heaven to take my place;
To see the love-light in your eyes,
The love-glow on your face!
And there’s a man whose lightest word
Can set my chilly blood afire;
Fulfillment of his least behest
Defines my life’s desire.
But he will none of me, nor I
Of you. Nor you of her. ’Tis said
The world is full of jests like these.—
I wish that I were dead.
“Relinquishment” by Elsa Gidlow
Go her way, her quiet, quiet way,
Her way is best for one so wistful-tired.
My three-months’ lover, go with your
world-sick heart,
Your love-bruised flesh. I am no sanctuary.
This hot mouth, these ardent, out-reaching arms,
This hollow between my breasts, these
hungry limbs,
They are a cradle, a cradle of living flame;
No haven for you, saddening after peace.
I am not certain, no, nor soothing-safe.
Mine is the shifting, perilous way of life.
Pitiless, ever-changing, hazardous,
My love insatiate and mutable.
Go her way, her quiet, well-path’d way,
Sit by her hearth-fire; let her keep you safe.
Mine the unharbored heart, the uncharted
passions;
Mine, at the end a more than common peace.
Poems About Cheating and Heartbreak for Her
Find solace in this collection of touching and relatable poems that delve into the complex emotions of cheating and heartbreak.
With each verse, these poems will capture your heart and resonate with your bittersweet experiences in a truly captivating way.
Keep reading!
“Inconstancy” by Edith May
They told me he’d forsake me; that the words
With which he charmed my very soul away,
Were like the hollow music of a shell
That learns to mock the ocean’s deeper voice.
For he had listened to love’s tones until
His ear and lip, though not his heart, had grown
Familiar with their melody. Nay, more,
They said his very boyhood had been marked
By worse than a boy’s follies, that in youth,
The season of high hopes, when lesser men
Put on their manhood as a monarch’s heir
Rich robes and royalty, his poor ambition
Asked but new charms and pleasures, newer loves,
New lips to smile until their sweetness palled,
And softer hands to clasp his own, until
He wearied even of so light a fetter.
Thus did they pluck me from him, but in vain;
For when did warning stay a woman’s heart?
I knew all this, and yet I trusted him.
Yea, with a child’s blind faith I gave my fate
Into his hands, content that he should know
How absolute his power and my weakness.
Speak not of pride, I never felt its lash;
There is no place for fallen Lucifer
In the pure heaven of a sinless love;
And when he left me, as they said he would,
My spirit had no room for aught save grief:
Giving the lie to my own conscious heart,
I taxed stern truth with falsehood to the last.
But when to doubt was madness, when, perforce,
Even from my credulous eyes the scales had fallen,
What was the cold scorn of a thousand worlds
To the one thought that for a counterfeit
I’d staked my woman’s all of love-and lost!
“Gracia” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Nay, nay, Antonio! nay, thou shalt not blame her,
My Gracia, who hath so deserted me.
Thou art my friend, but if thou dost defame her
I shall not hesitate to challenge thee.
“Curse and forget her?” So I might another,
One not so bounteous-natured or so fair;
But she, Antonio, she was like no other—
I curse her not, because she was so rare.
She was made out of laughter and sweet kisses;
Not blood, but sunshine, through her blue veins ran
Her soul spilled over with its wealth of blisses;
She was too great for loving but a man.
None but a god could keep so rare a creature:
I blame her not for her inconstancy;
When I recall each radiant smile and feature,
I wonder she so long was true to me.
Call her not false or fickle. I, who love her,
Do hold her not unlike the royal sun,
That, all unmated, roams the wide world over
And lights all worlds, but lingers not with one.
If she were less a goddess, more a woman,
And so had dallied for a time with me,
And then had left me, I, who am but human,
Would slay her and her newer love, maybe.
But since she seeks Apollo, or another
Of those lost gods (and seeks him all in vain)
And has loved me as well as any other
Of her men loves, why, I do not complain.
“To an Inconstant One” by Sir Robert Ayton
I loved thee once; I’ll love no more—
Thine be the grief as is the blame;
Thou art not what thou wast before,
What reason I should be the same?
He that can love unloved again,
Hath better store of love than brain:
God send me love my debts to pay,
While unthrifts fool their love away!
Nothing could have my love o’erthrown
If thou hadst still continued mine;
Yea, if thou hadst remain’d thy own,
I might perchance have yet been thine.
But thou thy freedom didst recall
That it thou might elsewhere enthral:
And then how could I but disdain
A captive’s captive to remain?
When new desires had conquer’d thee
And changed the object of thy will,
It had been lethargy in me,
Not constancy, to love thee still.
Yea, it had been a sin to go
And prostitute affection so:
Since we are taught no prayers to say
To such as must to others pray.
Yet do thou glory in thy choice—
Thy choice of his good fortune boast;
I’ll neither grieve nor yet rejoice
To see him gain what I have lost:
The height of my disdain shall be
To laugh at him, to blush for thee;
To love thee still, but go no more
A-begging at a beggar’s door.
“Pattern” by Dorothy Parker
Leave me to my lonely pillow.
Go, and take your silly posies;
Who has vowed to wear the willow
Looks a fool, tricked out in roses.
Who are you, my lad, to ease me?
Leave your pretty words unspoken.
Tinkling echoes little please me,
Now my heart is freshly broken.
Over young are you to guide me,
And your blood is slow and sleeping.
If you must, then sit beside me….
Tell me, why have I been weeping?
“The Flea” by John Donne
Marke but this flea, and marke in this,
How little that which thou deny’st me is;
It suck’d me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea, our two bloods mingled bee;
Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sinne, nor shame, nor losse of maidenhead,
Yet this enjoyes before it wooe,
And pamper’d swells with one blood made of two,
And this, alas, is more then wee would doe.
Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where wee almost, yea more then maryed are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our mariage bed, and mariage temple is;
Though parents grudge, and you, w’are met,
And cloysterd in these living walls of Jet.
Though use make you apt to kill mee,
Let not to that, selfe murder added bee,
And sacrilege, three sinnes in killing three.
Cruell and sodaine, hast thou since
Purpled thy naile, in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty bee,
Except in that drop which it suckt from thee?
Yet thou triumph’st, and saist that thou
Find’st not thy selfe, nor mee the weaker now;
‘Tis true, then learne how false, feares bee;
Just so much honor, when thou yeeld’st to mee,
Will wast, as this flea’s death tooke life from thee.
“Rondeau Redoublé” by Dorothy Parker
The same to me are sombre days and gay.
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright,
Because my dearest love is gone away
Within my heart is melancholy night.
My heart beats low in loneliness, despite
That riotous Summer holds the earth in sway.
In cerements my spirit is bedight;
The same to me are sombre days and gay.
Though breezes in the rippling grasses play,
And waves dash high and far in glorious might,
I thrill no longer to the sparkling day,
Though joyous dawns the rosy morn, and bright.
Ungraceful seems to me the swallow’s flight;
As well might Heaven’s blue be sullen gray;
My soul discerns no beauty in their sight
Because my dearest love is gone away.
Let roses fling afar their crimson spray,
And virgin daisies splash the fields with white,
Let bloom the poppy hotly as it may,
Within my heart is melancholy night.
And this, oh love, my pitiable plight
Whenever from my circling arms you stray;
This little world of mine has lost its light. . . .
I hope to God, my dear, that you can say
The same to me.
“A Warning” by Adelaide Anne Procter
Place your hands in mine, dear,
With their rose-leaf touch:
If you heed my warning,
It will spare you much.
Ah! with just such smiling
Unbelieving eyes,
Years ago I heard it:
You shall be more wise.
You have one great treasure,
Joy for all your life;
Do not let it perish
In one reckless strife.
Do not venture all, child,
In one frail, weak heart;
So, through any shipwreck,
You may save a part.
Where your soul is tempted
Most to trust your fate,
There, with double caution,
Linger, fear, and wait.
Measure all you give, still
Counting what you take;
Love for love, so placing
Each an equal stake.
Treasure love; though ready
Still to live without.
In your fondest trust, keep
Just one thread of doubt.
Build on no to-morrow;
Love has but to-day:
If the links seem slackening,
Cut the bond away.
Trust no prayer nor promise;
Words are grains of sand:
To keep your heart unbroken,
Hold it in your hand.
That your love may finish
Calm as it begun,
Learn this lesson better,
Dear, than I have done.
Years hence, perhaps, this warning
You shall give again,
In just the self-same words, dear,
And — just as much — in vain.
“To —” by Frances Anne Butler
What recks the sun, how weep the heavy flowers
All the sad night, when he is far away?
What recks he, how they mourn, through those dark hours,
Till back again he leads the smiling day?
As lifts each watery bloom its tearful eye,
And blesses from its lowly seat, the god,
In his great glory he goes through the sky,
And recks not of the blessing from the sod.
And what is it to thee, oh, thou, my fate!
That all my hope, and joy, remains with thee?
That thy departing, leaves me desolate,
That thy returning, brings back life to me?
I blame not thee, for all the strife, and woe,
That for thy sake daily disturbs my life;
I blame not thee, that Heaven has made me so,
That all the love I can, is woe, and strife.
I blame not thee, that I may ne’er impart
The tempest, and the death, and the despair,
That words, and looks, of thine make in my heart,
And turn by turn, riot and stagnate there.
Oh! I have found my sin’s sharp scourge in thee,
For loving thee, as one should love but Heaven;
Therefore, oh, thou beloved! I blame not thee,
But by my anguish hope to be forgiven.
“Sunshine After Cloud” by Josephine D. Heard
Come, “Will,” let’s be good friends again,
Our wrongs let’s be forgetting,
For words bring only useless pain,
So wherefore then be fretting.
Let’s lay aside imagined wrongs,
And ne’er give way to grieving,
Life should be filled with joyous songs,
No time left for deceiving.
I’ll try and not give way to wrath,
Nor be so often crying;
There must some thorns be in our path,
Let’s move them now by trying.
How, like a foolish pair were we,
To fume about a letter;
Time is so precious, you and me;
Must spend ours doing better.
“Doubt and Love” by Libbie C. Baer
“Love lives by faith,” my lover to me said
In earnest tones which loving thought imbue
With grace divine; such sense of honor, few
On earth attain; and by his fervor led,
My hopes to heaven on airy wings had sped;
When I for answer must—as woman e’er do
Needs question love, and say: “can man be true?”
(O, cruel words, had they but been unsaid;)
A changed voice gave to me this cold reply:
With hollow laugh bereft of all delight.
“To question love doth but a doubt imply;
And doubt kills love.” And lo! before my sight
Love died, and hurled from out an angry sky,
Hope bleeding fell upon the pall of night.