True love has a way of touching the deepest corners of our hearts, and poetry captures that magic like nothing else.
Here are 10 endearing true love poems for her heart are more than just words—they are heartfelt whispers that celebrate connection, passion, and devotion.
Let these poems that speak directly to the soul, especially those that express genuine love in its purest form, make your heart feel special.
Let’s get right to it!
My favorite true love poem for her heart
#1 “In The Heart Of A Rose” by George Marion McClellan
I will hide my soul and its mighty love
In the bosom of this rose,
And its dispensing breath will take
My love wherever it goes.
And perhaps she’ll pluck this very rose,
And, quick as blushes start,
Will breathe my hidden secret in
Her unsuspecting heart.
And there I will live in her embrace
And the realm of sweetness there,
Enamored with an ecstasy,
Of bliss beyond compare.
There’s something hauntingly beautiful about love wrapped in silence, waiting to be discovered.
This poem captures the magic of quiet devotion—how love can live in a single rose, carried gently by its breath, hoping to find its way into her heart.
I chose it because it speaks to the dream of being close to someone without them even knowing it at first, and then suddenly, that love blooms inside them, sweet and unexpected.
9 more true love poems for her heart
#2 “Song — O Were My Love You Lilac Fair” by Robert Burns
O were my love yon Lilac fair,
Wi’ purple blossoms to the Spring,
And I, a bird to shelter there,
When wearied on my little wing!
How I wad mourn when it was torn
By Autumn wild, and Winter rude!
But I wad sing on wanton wing,
When youthfu’ May its bloom renew’d.
O gin my love were yon red rose,
That grows upon the castle wa’;
And I myself a drap o’ dew,
Into her bonie breast to fa’!
O there, beyond expression blest,
I’d feast on beauty a’ the night;
Seal’d on her silk-saft faulds to rest,
Till fley’d awa by Phoebus’ light!
#3 From “A Dream of Love” by Walter von der Vogelweide
Look, this is why I feel so gay:
I have grown warm with cheer,
Clasped by a dream so dear.
Alas, I had to wake, for it was day.
Hear what she has done unto me:
All the summer I must peer
Into ladies’ eyes to see
If I can find my dear: then sorrow’s end were near.
Maybe she is going to this dance.
Ladies, I beg you, be so kind,
Push back your hats, if you don’t mind!
If I should find her ’neath this wreath by chance!
#4 “Love’s Lovers” by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Some ladies love the jewels in Love’s zone
And gold-tipped darts he hath for painless play
In idle scornful hours he flings away;
And some that listen to his Lute’s soft tone
Do love to vaunt the silver praise their own;
Some prize his blindfold sight; and there be they
Who kissed his wings which brought him yesterday
And thank his wings to-day that he is flown.
My lady only loves the heart of Love:
Therefore Love’s heart, my lady, hath for thee
His bower of unimagined flower and tree:
There kneels he now, and all-anhungered of
Thine eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above,
Seals with thy mouth his immortality.
#5 “Ice and Fire” by Edmund Spenser
My love is like to ice, and I to fire:
How comes it then that this her cold so great
Is not dissolved through my so hot desire,
But harder grows the more I her entreat?
Or how comes it that my exceeding heat
Is not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,
But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,
And feel my flames augmented manifold?
What more miraculous thing may be told,
That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice,
And ice, which is congeal’d with senseless cold,
Should kindle fire by wonderful device?
Such is the power of love in gentle mind,
That it can alter all the course of kind.
#6 “Random Thoughts Of Her” by John Rollin Ridge
I gaze into her eyes—their tender light,
And strong, illumes my spirit’s darkest night,
And pours rich glory on me as a star
Which brings its silver luster from afar.
Sweet thoughts and beautiful within me burn,
And heaven I see what way soe’er I turn;
In borrowed radiance of her soulful glance
All things grow tenfold lovely and entrance.
I touch her willing hand—as gentle dove
It rests within my own, in trusting love;
And yet it moves me with a power so deep,
My heart is flame, and all my pulses leap.
I breathe her name unto the flowers: they bloom
With rarer hues, and shed more rich perfume!
The skylark hears it, as he floats along,
And adds new sweetness to his morning song.
Oh magic name! deep graven on my heart,
And, as its owner, of myself a part!
It hath in all my daily thoughts a share,
And forms the burden of my nightly prayer!
#7 “The Heart Of The Woman” by W. B. Yeats
O what to me the little room
That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;
He bade me out into the gloom,
And my breast lies upon his breast.
O what to me my mother’s care,
The house where I was safe and warm;
The shadowy blossom of my hair
Will hide us from the bitter storm.
O hiding hair and dewy eyes,
I am no more with life and death,
My heart upon his warm heart lies,
My breath is mixed into his breath.
#8 “To Her I Love” by James Thomson
Tell me, thou soul of her I love,
Ah! tell me, whither art thou fled;
To what delightful world above,
Appointed for the happy dead?
Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam
And sometimes share thy lover’s woe;
Where, void of thee, his cheerless home
Can now, alas! no comfort know?
Oh! if thou hoverest round my walk,
While, under every well-known tree,
I to thy fancied shadow talk,
And every tear is full of thee;
Should then the weary eye of grief,
Beside some sympathetic stream,
In slumber find a short relief,
Oh! visit thou my soothing dream!
#9 “Amoretti LXXIX: Men Call You Fair” by Edmund Spenser
Men call you fair, and you do credit it,
For that your self ye daily such do see:
But the true fair, that is the gentle wit,
And vertuous mind, is much more prais’d of me.
For all the rest, how ever fair it be,
Shall turn to naught and lose that glorious hue:
But only that is permanent and free
From frail corruption, that doth flesh ensue.
That is true beauty: that doth argue you
To be divine, and born of heavenly seed:
Deriv’d from that fair Spirit, from whom all true
And perfect beauty did at first proceed.
He only fair, and what he fair hath made,
All other fair, like flowers untimely fade.
#10 “There is a Garden in Her Face” by Richard Allison
There is a garden in her face,
Where roses and white lilies blow;
A heavenly paradise is that place,
Wherein all pleasant fruits do grow;
There cherries grow that none may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
Those cherries fairly do enclose
Of orient pearl a double row,
Which when her lovely laughter shows,
They look like rosebuds filled with snow;
Yet them no peer nor prince may buy,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.
Her eyes like angels watch them still,
Her brows like bended bows do stand,
Threatening with piercing frowns to kill
All that approach with eye or hand
These sacred cherries to come nigh,
Till cherry-ripe themselves do cry.