Love Poems

"It was a lover and his lass
Under the greenwood tree
How should I your true love know
Tomorrow is Saint Valentine’s day
O mistress mine, where are you roaming
Take, O take those lips away
The Willow Song (The poor soul sat sighing)
Blow, blow, thou winter wind
Sigh no more, ladies
From fairest creatures we desire increase
When forty winters shall besiege thy brow
For shame deny that thou bear’st love to any
When I consider everything that grows
Who will believe my verse in time to come
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day
Devouring time, blunt thou the lion’s paws
A woman’s face with nature’s own hand painted
So is it not with me as with that muse
My glass shall not persuade me I am old
As an unperfect actor on the stage
Mine eye hath played the painter, and hath steeled
Let those who are in favour with their stars
Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed
When in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes
Thy bosom is endeared with all hearts
If thou survive my well-contented day
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
No more be grieved at that which thou hast done
Those pretty wrongs that liberty commits
That thou hast her it is not all my grief
When most I wink then do mine eyes best see
Mine eye and heart are at a mortal war
Against that time, if ever that time come
How heavy do I journey on the way
What is your substance, whereof are you made
O how much more doth beauty beauteous seem
Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Sweet love, renew thy force; be it not said
Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore
Is it thy will thy image should keep open
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
Against my love shall be as I am now
When I have seen by time’s fell hand defaced
Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea
That time of year thou mayst in me behold
Why is my verse so barren of new pride
So oft have I invoked thee for my muse
Whilst I alone did call upon thy aid
O how I faint when I of you do write
Or I shall live, your epitaph to make
I never saw that you did painting need
Farewell, thou art too dear for my possessing
When thou shalt be disposed to set me light
Say that thou didst forsake me for some fault
But do thy worst to steal thyself away
They that have power to hurt, and will do none
How sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame
Some say thy fault is youth, some wantonness
How like a winter hath my absence been
The forward violet thus did I chide
My love is strengthened, though more weak in seeming
Alack, what poverty my muse brings forth
To me fair friend you never can be old
When in the chronicle of wasted time
Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul
O never say that I was false of heart
Alas, ’tis true, I have gone here and there
Since I left you, mine eye is in my mind
Or whether doth my mind, being crowned with you
Those lines that I before have writ do lie
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
That you were once unkind befriends me now
’Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed
If my dear love were but the child of state
O thou my lovely boy, who in thy power
In the old age black was not counted fair
How oft when thou, my music, music play’st
Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame
My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun
Thou art as tyrannous, so as thou art
Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
So now I have confessed that he is thine
Whoever hath her wish, thou hast thy Will
If thy soul check thee that I come so near
When my love swears that she is made of truth
O call not me to justify the wrong
In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes
Love is my sin, and thy dear virtue hate
Two loves I have, of comfort and despair
Those lips that love’s own hand did make
My love is as a fever, longing still
Canst thou, O cruel, say I love thee not
O from what power hast thou this powerful might
Love is too young to know what conscience is
In loving thee thou know’st I am forsworn
Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep
The little love-god lying once asleep
The Phoenix and the Turtle"