Love Google
Romantic Love Poems
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Romantic love poems are the original source and reason for writing love poetry. Experiencing difficulty expressing your romantic feelings? If so, you are part of the other million people. That’s why a lot of people chose to express their feelings through romantic poems written by poets who had experienced the same emotion and has been able to express at its closeness.
Romantic love poems can be written on a gift card, on the back front of a book cover, or a secret note tucked on his/her computer. Or simply read loud the romantic poem during a candles light dinner and asking for her hand.
Love Letters WritingLetters of Love |
Romantic Love Poems for the lovers
O my Luve's like a red, red rose
O MY Luve's like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June!
O my Luve's like the melodie
That's sweetly play'd in tune!
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry—
Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve!
And fare thee weel awhile!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burn (1752 - 1815)
To Jane
The keen stars were twinkling,
And the fair moon was rising among them,
Dear Jane.
The guitar was tinkling,
But the notes were not sweet till you sung them
Again.
As the moon's soft splendour
O'er the faint cold starlight of Heaven
Is thrown,
So your voice most tender
To the strings without soul had then given
Its own.
The stars will awaken,
Though the moon sleep a full hour later
To-night;
No leaf will be shaken
Whilst the dews of your melody scatter
Delight.
Though the sound overpowers,
Sing again, with your dear voice revealing
A tone
Of some world far from ours,
Where music and moonlight and feeling
Are one.
Percy Bysshe Shelley ( 1792 - 1822 )
Romance
Romance, who loves to nod and sing,
With drowsy head and folded wing,
Among the green leaves as they shake
Far down within some shadowy lake,
To me a painted paroquet
Hath been - a most familiar bird -
Taught me my alphabet to say -
To lisp my very earliest word
While in the wild wood I did lie,
A child - with a most knowing eye.
Of late, eternal Condor years,
So shake the very Heaven on high
With tumult as they thunder by,
I have no time for idle cares
Through gazing on the unquiet sky,
And when an hour with calmer wings
Its down upon my spirit flings -
That litle time with lyre and rhyme
To while away - forbidden thing!
My heart would feel to be a crime
Unless it trembled with the strings.
Edgar Allan Poe (1809 - 1849)