Classic Romantic Poetry

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Escape me?
Never-
Beloved!
While I am I, and you are you,
So long as the world contains us both,
Me the loving and you the loth,
While the one eludes, must the other pursue.
My life is a fault at last, I fear:
It seems to much like a fate, indeed!
Though I do my best I shall scarce succeed.
But what if I fail of my purpose here?
It is but to keep the nerves at strain,
To dry one's eyes and laugh at a fall,
And baffled, get up and begin again,-
So the chace takes up one's life, that's
all.
While, look but once from your farthest
bound
At me so deep in the dust and dark,
No sooner the old hope goes to ground
Than a new one, straight to the self-same
mark,
I shape me-
Ever
Removed!

Robert Browning

Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,
Which I gaze on so fondly today,
Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms,
Like fairy-gifts fading away,
Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou
art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.

It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,
And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,
That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known,
To which time will but make thee more dear;
No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,
But as truly loves on to the close,
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets,
The same look which she turned when he rose.

Thomas Moore

She was a phamntom of delight
When first she gleamed upon my sight;
A lovely apparition, sent
To be a moment's ornament;
Her eyes as stars of Twilight fair;
Like Twilight's, too, her dusky hair
But all things else about her drawn
From May-time and the cheerful Dawn;
A dancing shape, an Image gay,
To haunt, to startle, and way-lay.

I saw her upon nearer view,
A spirit, yet a Woman too!
Her household motions light and free,
And steps of Virgin-liberty;
A countenance in which did meet
Sweet records, promises as sweet;
A Creature not too bright or good
For human nature's daily food;
For transient sorrows, simple wiles,
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles.

And now I see with eye serene
The very pulse of the machine;
A Being breathing thoughtful breath;
A Traveller between life and death;
The reason firm, the temperature will,
Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill;

A perfect Woman, nobly planned,
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a Spirit still, and bright
With something of an angelic light.

William Wordsworth

How do I love thee: Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints,-I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life!-and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning

So just kiss me and let my hair
messy itself in your fingers

tell me nothing needs to be done-
no clocks need winding

There is no bell without a voice
needing to borrow my own

instead, let me steady myself
in the arms

of a man who won't ask me to be
what he needs, but lets me exist

as I am

a blonde flame
a hurricane

wrapped up
in a tiny body

that will come to his arms
like the safest harbor

for mending

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She is not fair to outward view
as many maidens be;
Her loveliness I never knew
Until she smiled on me.
O then I saw her eye was bright,
A well of love, a spring of light.

but now her looks are coy and cold.
To mine they ne'er reply,
And yet I cease not to behold
The love-light in her eye;
Her very frowns are fairer far
Than smiles of other maidens are.

Hartley Coleridge

My heart is full of joy
and all seems changed
Winter's cold transformed to flowers
white, and red, and yellow.
With the wind and the rain
my joy increases.
My merit mounts and rises,
and my song grows good.
Such love lies in my heart,
and joy and sweetness.
The ice seems like flowers,
and the snow green fields.

Bernart de Ventadorn

I fear thy kisses gentle maiden;
Thou needest not fear mine;
My spirit is too deeply laden
Ever to burthen thine.

I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion:
Thou needest not fear mine;
Innocent is the heart's devotion
With which I worship thine.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

All paths lead to you
Where e'er I stray,
You are the evening star
At the end of day.

All paths lead to you
Hill-top or low,
You are the white birch
In the sun's glow.

All paths lead to you
Where e'er I roam.
You are the lark-song
Calling me home!

Blanche Shoemaker Wagstaff