43 Aching Poems About Wanting an Ex Back for Him

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Here are my favorite poems about wanting an ex back for him categorized:

  • Poems about getting back together with your ex for him
  • I want you back poems for him
  • Poems to win back your ex for him

So if you want the best poems about wanting an ex back for him, then you’re in the right place.

Let’s get into it!

43 Best Poems About Wanting an Ex Back for Him (Handpicked)
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Aching Poems About Wanting an Ex Back for Him

a stunning young woman in a white dress in a vibrant field of purple lavender flowers

Lost love is a universal experience, one that has inspired countless poets to pour their emotions onto the page.

In this collection of touching verses, we embark on a journey of longing and desire, as we explore the theme of wanting an ex-lover back.

Each poem, like a delicate brushstroke on the canvas of heartbreak, captures the raw vulnerability and desperate yearning that accompanies such a desire.

From the depths of despair to the flickering hope of reconciliation, these verses will transport you to a world where love lingers, refusing to be forgotten.

So, prepare to immerse yourself in this captivating anthology of aching poems, as we delve into the complexities of love lost and the longing to reclaim what was once ours.

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My #1 Favorite Poem About Wanting an Ex Back for Him

a beautiful lady in black dress sitting near the castle

“I Wonder Why” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Do you remember that glorious June
When we were lovers, you and I?
Something there was in the robin’s tune,
Something there was in earth and sky,
That was never before, and never since then.
I wonder why.

Do you remember the bridge we crossed,
And lingered to see the ships go by,
With snowy sails to the free winds tossed?
I never pass that bridge but I sigh
With a sense at my heart as of something lost.
I wonder why.

Do you remember the song we sung,
Under the beautiful starlit sky?
The world was bright, and our hearts were young –
I cannot forget though I try and try.
How you smiled in my eyes while the echoes rung.
I wonder why.

Do you remember how debonair
The new moon shone when we said good-bye?
How it listened and smiled when we parted there?
I shall hate the new moon until I die –
Hate it for ever, nor think it fair.
I wonder why.

Why Is “I Wonder Why” My Favorite Poem About Wanting an Ex Back

a beautiful woman with dark hair in elegant white dress in blooming lavender field at sunset

What I love about “I Wonder Why” is how Wilcox poses thought-provoking questions that only those who have experienced a breakup can truly understand.

I like how the author expresses her longing to be with her ex-lover once again in the most subtle and sensitive way.

It’s a sentiment that resonates with many of us, as we reflect on our own personal stories of parting ways with a former love.

This is why I feel such a strong connection to her words, as each heartfelt verse touches my soul in the most endearing way.

Poems About Getting Back Together With Your Ex for Him

A divine girl with wavy blond hair and pale pink lips amongst delicate white and pink flowers

Rekindling old flames, reigniting buried emotions, and finding solace in familiar arms.

These poems capture the bittersweet journey of souls hoping to rediscover the embrace of love and navigate the delicate path of reuniting with an ex.

“I Love Thee Still” by George Pope Morris

I never have been false to thee!—
The heart I gave thee still is thine;
Though thou hast been untrue to me,
And I no more may call thee mine!
I ‘ve loved, as woman ever loves,
With constant soul in good or ill:
Thou ‘st proved as man too often proves,
A rover—but I love thee still!

Yet think not that my spirit stoops
To bind thee captive in my train!—
Love’s not a flower at sunset droops,
But smiles when comes her god again!
Thy words, which fall unheeded now,
Could once my heart-strings madly thrill!
Lovely golden chain and burning vow
Are broken—but I love thee still!

Once what a heaven of bliss was ours,
When love dispelled the clouds of care,
And time went by with birds and flowers,
While song and incense filled the air!
The past is mine—the present thine—
Should thoughts of me thy future fill,
Think what a destiny is mine,
To lose—but love thee, false one, still!

“I Thought, My Heart” by Thomas Hardy

I thought, my Heart, that you had healed
Of those sore smartings of the past,
And that the summers had oversealed
All mark of them at last.
But closely scanning in the night
I saw them standing crimson-bright
Just as she made them:
Nothing could fade them;
Yea, I can swear
That there they were –
They still were there!

Then the Vision of her who cut them came,
And looking over my shoulder said,
“I am sure you deal me all the blame
For those sharp smarts and red;
But meet me, dearest, to-morrow night,
In the churchyard at the moon’s half-height,
And so strange a kiss
Shall be mine, I wis,
That you’ll cease to know
If the wounds you show
Be there or no!”

“I Say I’ll Seek Her” by Thomas Hardy

I say, “I’ll seek her side
Ere hindrance interposes;”
But eve in midnight closes,
And here I still abide.

When darkness wears I see
Her sad eyes in a vision;
They ask, “What indecision
Detains you, Love, from me? –

“The creaking hinge is oiled,
I have unbarred the backway,
But you tread not the trackway;
And shall the thing be spoiled?

“Far cockcrows echo shrill,
The shadows are abating,
And I am waiting, waiting;
But O, you tarry still!”

beautiful blond girl on green field with flowers

“I Never Loved You More” by Bertolt Brecht

I never loved you more, ma soeur
Than as I walked away from you that evening.
The forest swallowed me, the blue forest, ma soeur
The blue forest and above it pale stars in the west.

I did not laugh, not one little bit, ma soeur
As I playfully walked towards a dark fate–
While the faces behind me
Slowly paled in the evening of the blue forest.

Everything was grand that one night, ma soeur
Never thereafter and never before,
I admit it: I was left with nothing but the big birds
And their hungry cries in the dark evening sky.

“I Loved You, Once” by George Parsons Lathrop

And did you think my heart
Could keep its love unchanging,
Fresh as the buds that start
In spring, nor know estranging?
Listen! The buds depart:
I loved you once, but now-
I love you more than ever.

‘T is not the early love;
With day and night it alters,
And onward still must move
Like earth, that never falters
For storm or star above.
I loved you once; but now-
I love you more than ever.

With gifts in those glad days
How eagerly I sought you!
Youth, shining hope, and praise:
These were the gifts I brought you.
In this world little stays:
I loved you once, but now-
I love you more than ever.

A child with glorious eyes
Here in our arms half sleeping-
So passion wakeful lies;
Then grows to manhood, keeping
Its wistful, young surprise:
I loved you once, but now-
I love you more than ever.

When age’s pinching air
Strips summer’s rich possession,
And leaves the branches bare,
My secret in confession
Still thus with you I’ll share:
I loved you once, but now-
I love you more than ever.

“I Love You As I Love The Night’s High Vault” by Charles Baudelaire

I love you as I love the night’s high vault
O silent one, 0 sorrow’s lachrymal,
And love you more because you flee from me,
And temptress of my nights, ironically
You seem to hoard the space, to take to you
What separates my arms from heaven’s blue.

I climb to the assault, attack the source,
A choir of wormlets pressing towards a corpse,
And cherish your unbending cruelty,
This iciness so beautiful to me.

gorgeous nymph lying on green meadow

“I Said – I Care Not” by Richard Le Gallienne

I said – I care not if I can
But look into her eyes again,
But lay my hand within her hand
Just once again.

Though all the world be filled with snow
And fire and cataclysmal storm,
I’ll cross it just to lay my head
Upon her bosom warm.

Ah! bosom made of April flowers,
Might I but bring this aching brain,
This foolish head, and lay it down
On April once again!

“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.

“Why?” by Madison Julius Cawein

Why smile high stars the happier after rain?
Why is strong love the stronger after pain?
Ai me! ai me! thou wotest not nor I!

Why sings the wild swan heavenliest when it dies?
Why spake the dumb lips sweetest that we prize
For maddening memories? O why! O why!

Why are dead kisses dearer when they’re dead?
Why are dead faces lovelier vanished?
And why this heart-ache? None can answer why!

fairytale princess in  a pink dress with

“When Shall We Meet Again?” by John Clare

How many times Spring blossoms meek
Have faded on the land
Since last I kissed that pretty cheek,
Caressed that happy hand.
Eight time the green’s been painted white
With daisies in the grass
Since I looked on thy eyes so bright,
And pressed my bonny lass.

The ground lark sung about the farms,
The blackbird in the wood,
When fast locked in each other’s arms
By hedgerow thorn we stood.
It was a pleasant Sabbath day,
The sun shone bright and round,
His light through dark oaks passed, and lay
Like gold upon the ground.

How beautiful the blackbird sung,
And answered soft the thrush;
And sweet the pearl-like dew-drops hung
Upon the white thorn bush.
O happy day, eight years ago!
We parted without pain:
The blackbird sings, primroses blow;
When shall we meet again?

“Why, My Heart, Do We Love Her So?” by William Ernest Henley

Why, my heart, do we love her so?
(Geraldine, Geraldine!)
Why does the great sea ebb and flow? –
Why does the round world spin?
Geraldine, Geraldine,
Bid me my life renew:
What is it worth unless I win,
Love – love and you?

Why, my heart, when we speak her name
(Geraldine, Geraldine!)
Throbs the word like a flinging flame? –
Why does the Spring begin?
Geraldine, Geraldine,
Bid me indeed to be:
Open your heart, and take us in,
Love – love and me.

“A Supplication” by Sir Thomas Wyat

Forget not yet the tried intent
Of such a truth as I have meant
My great travail so gladly spent,
Forget not yet!

Forget not yet when first began
The weary life ye know, since whan
The suit, the service none tell can;
Forget not yet!

Forget not yet the great essays,
The cruel wrong, the scornful ways,
The painful patience in delays,
Forget not yet!

Forget not! O forget not this,
How long ago hath been, and is
The mind that never meant amiss
Forget not yet!

Forget not then thine own approved
The which so long hath thee so loved,
Whose steadfast faith yet never moved—
Forget not this!

I Want You Back Poems for Him

a blonde girl wearing  white dress with flower wreath

Poems are a beautiful way to express your deepest yearning to be back in the warm embrace of your ex-lover.

Enjoy these timeless pieces that will also reignite the unspoken desires of your former beloved in the most sensitive way!

“I Know I Love Thee” by John Hartley

I shall never forget the day, Annie,
When I bid thee a fond adieu;
With a careless good bye I left thee,
For my cares and my fears were few.
True that thine eyes seemed brightest; –
True that none had so fair a brow, –
I thought that I loved thee then, Annie,
But I knew that I love thee now.

I had neither wealth nor beauty,
Whilst thou owned of both a share,
I bad only a honest purpose
And the courage the Fates to dare.
To all others my heart preferred thee,
And ’twas hard to part I know;
For I thought that I loved thee then, Annie,
But I know that I love thee now.

Oh! what would I give to-night, love,
Could I clasp thee once again,
To my heart that is aching with loving, –
To my heart where my love does reign.
Could I hear thy voice making music,
So gentle, so sweet and so low,
I thought that I loved thee then, Annie,
But I know that I love thee now.

I have won me wealth and honour, –
I have earned a worldly regard,
But alas they afford me no pleasure,
Nor lighten my lot so hard.
Oh come for my bosom yearneth,
All its burden of love to bestow, –
Once I thought that I really loved thee,
But I know that I love thee now.

Canst thou ever forgive me the folly,
Of failing to capture the prize,
Of thy maiden heart, trustful and loving,
That shone thro’ thy tear bedimmed eyes.
But I knew not until we had parted,
How fiercely love’s embers could glow;
Or how truly I loved thee then, Annie,
Or how madly I’d love thee now.

“I Would Live In Your Love” by Sara Teasdale

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea,
Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes;
I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me,
I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul
as it leads.

“I Love Thee” by Thomas Hood

I love thee—I love thee!
‘Tis all that I can say;—
It is my vision in the night,
My dreaming in the day;
The very echo of my heart,
The blessing when I pray:
I love thee—I love thee!
Is all that I can say.

I love thee—I love thee!
Is ever on my tongue;
In all my proudest poesy
That chorus still is sung;
It is the verdict of my eyes,
Amidst the gay and young:
I love thee—I love thee!
A thousand maids among.

I love thee—I love thee!
Thy bright hazel glance,
The mellow lute upon those lips,
Whose tender tones entrance;
But most, dear heart of hearts, thy proofs
That still these words enhance,
I love thee—I love thee!
Whatever be thy chance.

a fairy tale princess walks in the evening among fireflies in the mountains

“I Need Not Go” by Thomas Hardy

I need not go
Through sleet and snow
To where I know
She waits for me;
She will wait me there
Till I find it fair,
And have time to spare
From company.

When I’ve overgot
The world somewhat,
When things cost not
Such stress and strain,
Is soon enough
By cypress sough
To tell my Love
I am come again.

And if some day,
When none cries nay,
I still delay
To seek her side,
(Though ample measure
Of fitting leisure
Await my pleasure)
She will not chide.

What–not upbraid me
That I delayed me,
Nor ask what stayed me
So long? Ah, no! –
New cares may claim me,
New loves inflame me,
She will not blame me,
But suffer it so.

“My Heart And Lute” by Thomas Moore

I give thee all–I can no more–
Tho’ poor the offering be;
My heart and lute are all the store
That I can bring to thee.
A lute whose gentle song reveals
The soul of love full well;
And, better far, a heart that feels
Much more than lute could tell.

Tho’ love and song may fail, alas!
To keep life’s clouds away,
At least ’twill make them lighter pass,
Or gild them if they stay.
And even if Care at moments flings
A discord o’er life’s happy strain,
Let Love but gently touch the strings,
‘Twill all be sweet again!

“Love Thee, Dearest? Love Thee?” by Thomas Moore

Love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, by yonder star I swear,
Which thro’ tears above thee
Shines so sadly fair;
Tho’ often dim,
With tears, like him,
Like him my truth will shine,
And–love thee, dearest? love thee?
Yes, till death I’m thine.

Leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, that star is not more true;
When my vows deceive thee,
He will wander too.
A cloud of night
May veil his light,
And death shall darken mine–
But–leave thee, dearest? leave thee?
No, till death I’m thine.

a noble lady with diadem  standing in the field near the mountains

“Waiting” by Paul Laurence Dunbar

The sun has slipped his tether
And galloped down the west.
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
The little bird is sleeping
In the softness of its nest.
Night follows day, day follows dawn,
And so the time has come and gone:
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

The cruel wind is rising
With a whistle and a wail.
(And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
My eyes are seaward straining
For the coming of a sail;
But void the sea, and void the beach
Far and beyond where gaze can reach!
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

I heard the bell–buoy ringing—
How long ago it seems!
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
And ever still, its knelling
Crashes in upon my dreams.
The banns were read, my frock was sewn;
Since then two seasons’ winds have blown—
And it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

The stretches of the ocean
Are bare and bleak to–day.
(Oh, it’s weary, weary waiting, love.)
My eyes are growing dimmer—
Is it tears, or age, or spray?
But I will stay till you come home.
Strange ships come in across the foam!
But it’s weary, weary waiting, love.

“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 honor 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,
Wheresoe’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 waxed blind, and till the world were done.
Wheresoe’er I am, below, or else above you,
Wheresoe’er you are, my heart shall truly love you.

“The Unchangeable” by William Shakespeare

O never say that I was false of heart,
Though absence seemed my flame to qualify :
As easy might I from myself depart
As from my soul, which in thy breast doth lie.
This is my home of love; if I have ranged,
Like him that travels, I return again,
Just with the time, not with the time exchanged,
So that myself bring water for my stain.
Never believe, though in my nature reigned
All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood,
That it could so preposterously be stained
To leave for nothing all thy sum of good:
For nothing this wide universe I call,
Save thou, my rose: in it thou art my all.

a beautiful curly redhead holding a violin while relaxing in a vintage room

“Song” by Sir John Suckling

Honest lover, whosoever,
If in all thy love there ever
Was one wavering thought, if thy flame
Were not still even, still the same;
Know this,
Thou lovest amiss,
And to love true
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If when she appears i’ th’ room,
Thou dost not quake, art not struck dumb;
And if in striving this to cover
Dost not speak thy words twice over;
Know this,
Thou lovest amiss,
And to love true
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If fondly thou dost not mistake,
And all defects for graces take,
Persuadest thyself that jests are broken,
When she has little or nothing spoken:
Know this,
Thou lovest amiss,
And to love true
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If when thou appearest to be within,
Thou let’st not men ask, and ask again;
And when thou answerest, if it be
To what was asked thee properly:
Know this,
Thou lovest amiss,
And to love true
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If when thy stomach calls to eat,
Thou cut’st not fingers ‘ stead of meant;
And with much gazing on her face,
Dost not rise hungry from the place:
Know this,
Thou lovest amiss,
And to love true
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

If by this thou dost discover
That thou art no perfect lover,
And desiring to love true
Thou dost begin to love anew:
Know this,
Thou lovest amiss,
And to love true
Thou must begin again, and love anew.

Poems to Win Back Your Ex for Him

young beautiful lady in white lacy dress holds a bouquet of wild flowers on the meadow

In the battlefield of love, words are arrows aimed straight at the heart of your lost love!

Let these verses be your secret weapons as you embark on a lyrical quest to reignite the flames of passion and reclaim the love that was once lost.

“I Have Never Loved You Yet” by John Frederick Freeman

I have never loved you yet, if now I love.

If Love was born in that bright April sky
And ran unheeding when the sun was high,
And slept as the moon sleeps through Autumn nights
While those dear steady stars burn in their heights:

If Love so lived and ran and slept and woke
And ran in beauty when each morning broke,
Love yet was boylike, fervid and unstable,
Teased with romance, not knowing truth from fable.

But Winter after Autumn comes and stills
The petulant waters and the wild mind fills
With silence; and the dark and cold are bitter,
O, bitter to remember past days sweeter.

Then Spring with one warm cloudy finger breaks
The frost and the heart’s airless black soil shakes;
Love grown a man uprises, serious, bright
With mind remembering now things dark and light.

O, if young Love was beautiful, Love grown old
Experienced and grave is not grown cold.
Life’s faithful fire in Love’s heart burns the clearer
With all that was, is and draws darkling nearer.

I have never loved you yet, if now I love.

“I Would In That Sweet Bosom Be” by James Joyce

I would in that sweet bosom be
(O sweet it is and fair it is!)
Where no rude wind might visit me.
Because of sad austerities
I would in that sweet bosom be.

I would be ever in that heart
(O soft I knock and soft entreat her!)
Where only peace might be my part.
Austerities were all the sweeter
So I were ever in that heart.

“I Will Ask” by John Frederick Freeman

I will ask primrose and violet to spend for you
Their smell and hue,
And the bold, trembling anemone awhile to spare
Her flowers starry fair;
Or the flushed wild apple and yet sweeter thorn
Their sweetness to keep
Longer than any fire-bosomed flower born
Between midnight and midnight deep.

And I will take celandine, nettle and parsley, white
In its own green light,
Or milkwort and sorrel, thyme, harebell and meadowsweet
Lifting at your feet,
And ivy blossom beloved of soft bees; I will take
The loveliest-
The seeding grasses that bend with the winds, and shake
Though the winds are at rest.

“For me?” you will ask. “Yes! surely they wave for you
Their smell and hue,
And you away all that is rare were so much less
By your missed happiness.”
Yet I know grass and weed, ivy and apple and thorn
Their whole sweet would keep
Though in Eden no human spirit on a shining morn
Had awaked from sleep.

lovely young woman with magnificent blonde hair near blooming lilac in the countryside

“I Love But Thee” by Thomas Moore

If, after all, you still will doubt and fear me,
And think this heart to other loves will stray,
If I must swear, then, lovely doubter, hear me;
By every dream I have when thou’rt away,
By every throb I feel when thou art near me,
I love but thee–I love but thee!

By those dark eyes, where light is ever playing,
Where Love in depth of shadow holds his throne,
And by those lips, which give whate’er thou’rt saying,
Or grave or gay, a music of its own,
A music far beyond all minstrel’s playing,
I love but thee–I love but thee!

By that fair brow, where Innocence reposes,
As pure as moonlight sleeping upon snow,
And by that cheek, whose fleeting blush discloses
A hue too bright to bless this world below,
And only fit to dwell on Eden’s roses,
I love but thee–I love but thee!

“I Love Thee, Sweet Mary” by John Clare

I love thee, sweet Mary, but love thee in fear;
Were I but the morning breeze, healthy and airy,
As thou goest a walking I’d breathe in thine ear,
And whisper and sigh how I love thee, my Mary!

I wish but to touch thee, but wish it in vain;
Wert thou but a streamlet a winding so clearly,
And I little globules of soft dropping rain,
How fond would I press thy white bosom, my Mary!

I would steal a kiss, but I dare not presume;
Wert thou but a rose in thy garden, sweet fairy,
And I a bold bee for to rifle its bloom,
A whole summer’s day would I kiss thee, my Mary!!

I long to be with thee, but cannot tell how;
Wert thou but the elder that grows by thy dairy,
And I the blest woodbine to twine on the bough,
I’d embrace thee and cling to thee ever, my Mary!

“My Lady” by Robert Fuller Murray

My Lady of all ladies! Queen by right
Of tender beauty; full of gentle moods;
With eyes that look divine beatitudes,
Large eyes illumined with her spirit’s light;

Lips that are lovely both by sound and sight,
Breathing such music as the dove, which broods
Within the dark and silence of the woods,
Croons to the mate that is her heart’s delight.

Where is a line, in cloud or wave or hill,
To match the curve which rounds her soft-flushed cheek?
A colour, in the sky of morn or of even,
To match that flush? Ah, let me now be still!
If of her spirit I should strive to speak,
I should come short, as earth comes short of heaven.

blond princess in a vintage flower dress

“Love Song” by Alfred Lichtenstein

Your eyes are bright lands.
Your looks are little birds,
Handkerchiefs gently waving goodbye.
In your smile I rest as though in bobbing boats.
Your little stories are made of silk.
I must behold you always.

“Love Song (From A Happy Boy)” by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson

Have you love for me,
Yours my love shall be,
While the days of life are flowing.
Short was summer’s stay,
Grass now pales away,
With our play will come regrowing.

What you said last year
Sounds yet in my ear, –
Birdlike at the window sitting,
Tapping, trilling there,
Singing, in would bear
Joy the warmth of sun befitting.

Do you hear me too,
Youth behind the birch-trees biding?
Now the words I send,
Darkness will attend,
May be you can give them guiding.

Take it not amiss!
Sang I of a kiss?
No, I surely never planned it.
Did you hear it, you?
Give no heed thereto,
Haste I make to countermand it.

Oh, good-night, good-night
Dreams enfold me bright
Of your eyes’ persuasive mildness.
Many a silent word
From their corners heard, –
Breaking forth with gentle wildness.

Now my song is still;
Is there more you will?
All the tones, to me returning,
Laughing, luring, soar;
Did you wish me more?
Still and warm the night is yearning.

“Waiting” by Madison Julius Cawein

Were we in May now, while
Our souls are yearning,
Sad hearts would bound and smile
With red blood burning;
Around the tedious dial
No slow hands turning.

Were we in May now, say,
What joy to know
Her heart’s streams pulse away
In winds that blow,
See graceful limbs of May
Revealed to glow.

Were we in May now, think
What wealth she has;
The dog-tooth violets pink,
Wind-flowers like glass,
About the wood brook’s brink
Dark sassafras.

Nights, which the large stars strew
Heav’n on heav’n rolled,
Nights, whose feet flash with dew,
Whose long locks hold
Aromas cool and new,
A moon’s curved gold.

This makes me sad in March;
I long and long
To see the red-bud’s torch
Flame far and strong,
Hear on my vine-climbed porch
The blue-bird’s song.

What else then but to sleep
And cease from such;
Dream of her and to leap
At her white touch?
Ah me! then wake and weep,
Weep over much.

This is why day by day
Time lamely crawls,
Feet clogged with winter clay
That never falls,
While the dim month of May
Me far off calls.

a vintage young lady in a pretty white dress relaxing in the green blooming garden

“Come, Let Me Take Thee” by Robert Burns

Come, let me take thee to my breast,
And pledge we ne’er shall sunder;
And I shall spurn as vilest dust
The warld’s wealth and grandeur:
And do I hear my Jeanie own
That equal transports move her?
I ask for dearest life alone,
That I may live to love her.

Thus in my arms, wi’ a’ thy charms,
I clasp my countless treasure;
I’ll seek nae mair o’ heaven to share,
Than sic a moment’s pleasure:
And by thy een, sae bonnie blue,
I swear I’m thine for ever!
And on thy lips I seal my vow,
And break it shall I never.

“Come When I Sleep” by Victor-Marie Hugo

Oh! when I sleep, come near my resting-place,
As Laura came to bless her poet’s heart,
And let thy breath in passing touch my face –
At once a space
My lips will part.

And on my brow where too long weighed supreme
A vision – haply spent now – black as night,
Let thy look as a star arise and beam –
At once my dream
Will seem of light.

Then press my lips, where plays a flame of bliss –
A pure and holy love-light – and forsake
The angel for the woman in a kiss –
At once, I wis,
My soul will wake!

“When First That Smile” by Thomas Moore

When first that smile, like sunshine, blest my sight,
Oh what a vision then came o’er me!
Long years of love, of calm and pure delight,
Seemed in that smile to pass before me.
Ne’er did the peasant dream of summer skies,
Of golden fruit and harvests springing,
With fonder hope than I of those sweet eyes,
And of the joy their light was bringing.

Where now are all those fondly-promised hours?
Ah! woman’s faith is like her brightness–
Fading as fast as rainbows or day-flowers,
Or aught that’s known for grace and lightness.
Short as the Persian’s prayer, at close of day,
Should be each vow of Love’s repeating;
Quick let him worship Beauty’s precious ray–
Even while he kneels, that ray is fleeting!

beautiful loving victorian couple hugging by the lake

“We Two” by Ella Wheeler Wilcox

We two make home of any place we go;
We two find joy in any kind of weather;
Or if the earth is clothed in bloom or snow,
If summer days invite, or bleak winds blow,
What matters it if we two are together?
We two, we two, we make our world, our weather.

We two make banquets of the plainest fare;
In every cup we find the thrill of pleasure;
We hide with wreaths the furrowed brow of care,
And win to smiles the set lips of despair.
For us life always moves with lilting measure;
We two, we two, we make our world, our pleasure.

We two find youth renewed with every dawn;
Each day holds something of an unknown glory.
We waste no thought on grief or pleasure gone;
Tricked out like hope, time leads us on and on,
And thrums upon his harp new song or story.
We two, we two, we find the paths of glory.

We two make heaven here on this little earth;
We do not need to wait for realms eternal.
We know the use of tears, know sorrow’s worth,
And pain for us is always love’s rebirth.
Our paths lead closely by the paths supernal;
We two, we two, we live in love eternal.

“The One He Would Love” by Sir Thomas Wyat

A face that should content me wondrous well,
Should not be fat, but lovely to behold,
Of lively look, all grief for to repel
With right good grace, so would I that it should.
Speak without words such words as none can tell ,
Her tress also should be of crispéd gold,
With wit and these perchance I might be tried,
And knit again with knot that should not slide.

“Sonnet On Isabella Markham” by John Harrington

Whence comes my love? O heart, disclose;
It was from cheeks that shamed the rose,
From lips that spoil the ruby’s praise,
From eyes that mock the diamond’s blaze:
Whence comes my woe, as freely own;
Ah, me! ‘ twas from a heart like stone.

The blushing cheek speaks modest mind,
The lips befitting words most kind,
The eye does tempt to love’s desire,
And seems to say ‘ tis Cupid’s fire;
Yet all so fair but speak my moan,
Sith naught doth say the heart of stone.

Why thus, my love, so kind bespeak
Sweet eye, sweet lip , sweet blushing cheek—
Yet not a heart to save my pain?
Oh, Venus! take thy gifts again!
Make not so fair to cause our moan,
Or make a heart that’s like our own.

a beautiful red-haired young woman sitting in vintage armchair

“The Passionate Shepherd” by Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me, and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That vallies, groves, and hills and fields ,
The woods or steepy mountains yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers , to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses,
And a thousand fragrant posies;
A cap of flowers and a kirtle ,
Embroidered o’er with leaves of myrtle.

A gown made of the finest wool,
Which from our pretty lamps we pull ;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of the purest gold.

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs ;
And if these pleasures thee may move,
Come live with me, and be my love.

The shepherd swains shall dance and sing,
For thy delight, each May morning ;
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

“Song” by John Fletcher

Dearest! do not thou delay me,
Since thou know’st I must be gone;
Wind and tide, ‘ tis thought, doth stay me,
But ‘ tis wind that must be blown
From that breath, whose native smell
Indian odours far excel.

Oh, then speak, thou fairest fair!
Kill not him that vows to serve thee;
But perfume this neighbouring air,
Else dull silence sure will starve me;
‘Tis a word that’s quickly spoken,
Which being restrained, a heart is broken.

“The Evening Star” by John Leyden M.D.

How sweet thy modest light to view,
Fair star, to love and lovers dear ;
While trembling on the falling dew
Like beauty shining through the tear ;

Or hanging o’er that mirror- stream,
To mark each image trembling there,
Thou seem’st to smile with softer gleam,
To see thy lovely face so fair.

Though, blazing o’er the arch of night,
The moon thy timid beams outshine
As far as thine each starry light,
Her rays can never vie with thine.

Thine are the soft, enchanting hours
When twilight lingers on the plain,
And whispers to the closing flowers,
That soon the sun will rise again.

Thine is the breeze that, murmuring bland
As music, wafts the lover’s sigh ;
And bids the yielding heart expand
In love’s delicious ecstasy.

Fair star, though I be doomed to prove
That rapture’s tears are mixed with pain ;
Ah! still I feel ‘ tis sweet to love,
But sweeter to be loved again.

beautiful brunette young woman in red gown sitting by lake

“Love’s Philosophy” by Percy Bysshe Shelley

The fountains mingle with the river,
And the rivers with the ocean,
The winds of heaven mix for ever
With a sweet emotion;
Nothing in the world is single;
All things by a law divine
In one another’s being mingle
Why not I with thine?

See the mountains kiss high heaven,
And the waves clasp one another;
No sister flower would be forgiven
If it disdained its brother:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea,
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?

“Why Be At Pains? – Wooer’s Song” by Thomas Hardy

Why be at pains that I should know
You sought not me?
Do breezes, then, make features glow
So rosily?
Come, the lit port is at our back,
And the tumbling sea;
Elsewhere the lampless uphill track
To uncertainty!

O should not we two waifs join hands?
I am alone,
You would enrich me more than lands
By being my own.
Yet, though this facile moment flies,
Close is your tone,
And ere to-morrow’s dewfall dries
I plough the unknown.