Love poems

Amy Lowell

Madonna of the Evening Flowers

All day long I have been working,
Now I am tired.
I call:  "Where are you?"
But there is only the oak tree rustling in the wind.
The house is very quiet,
The sun shines in on your books,
On your scissors and thimble just put down,
But you are not there.
Suddenly I am lonely:
Where are you?
I go about searching.

Then I see you,
Standing under a spire of pale blue larkspur,
With a basket of roses on your arm.
You are cool, like silver,
And you smile.
I think the Canterbury bells are playing little tunes.

You tell me that the peonies need spraying,
That the columbines have overrun all bounds,
That the pyrus japonica should be cut back and rounded.
You tell me these things.
But I look at you, heart of silver,
White heart-flame of polished silver,
Burning beneath the blue steeples of the larkspur,
And I long to kneel instantly at your feet,
While all about us peal the loud, sweet Te Deums of the Canterbury bells.

Citate de dragoste

• 'I have been astonished that men could die martyrs for their religion - I have shudder'd at it. I shudder no more.
  I could be martyr'd for my religion. Love is my religion.
  And I could die for that. I could die for you.'
  ~ John Keats
• 'Work and love—these are the basics. Without them there is neurosis.'
  ~ Theodor Reik
• 'To live is like to love -
  all reason is against it,
  and all healthy instinct for it.'
  ~ Samuel Butler, Life and love