Life in a Love
by Robert Browning

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 too 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 to begin again,—
So the chase 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 drops to ground
Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark,
I shape me—
Ever
Removed!

Longing
by Matthew Arnold

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day.

Come, as thou cam’st a thousand times,
A messenger from radiant climes,
And smile on thy new world, and be
As kind to others as to me!

Or, as thou never cam’st in sooth,
Come now, and let me dream it truth,
And part my hair, and kiss my brow,
And say, My love why sufferest thou?

Come to me in my dreams, and then
By day I shall be well again!
For so the night will more than pay
The hopeless longing of the day

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways
by Elizabeth Barrett Browning

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 everyday’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candle-light.
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.

Forget not yet the tried intent

Of such a truth as I have meant

My great travail so gladly spent

Forget not yet.

Forget not yet when first began

The weary life ye knew, since whan

The suit, the service, none tell can,

Forget not yet.

Forget not yet the great assays,

The cruel wrongs, the scornful ways,

The painful patience in denays

Forget not yet.

Forget not yet, forget not this,

How long ago hath been, and is,

The mind that never means amiss;

Forget not yet.

Forget not yet thine own approved,

The which so long hath thee so loved,

Whose steadfast faith yet never moved,

Forget not this.

Young Ben he was a nice young man,

A carpenter by trade;

And he fell in love with Sally Brown,

That was a lady’s maid.

But as they fetch’d a walk one day,

They met a press-gang crew;

And Sally she did faint away,

Whilst Ben he was brought to.

The Boatswain swore with wicked words,

Enough to shock a saint,

That though she did seem in a fit,

‘Twas nothing but a feint.

“Come, girl,” said he, “hold up your head,

He’ll be as good as me;

For when your swain is in our boat,

A boatswain he will be.”

So when they’d made their game of her,

And taken off her elf,

She roused, and found she only was

A coming to herself.

“And is he gone, and is he gone?”

She cried, and wept outright:

“Then I will to the water side,

And see him out of sight.”

A waterman came up to her,

“Now, young woman,” said he,

“If you weep on so, you will make

Eye-water in the sea.”

“Alas! they’ve taken my beau Ben

To sail with old Benbow;”

And her woe began to run afresh,

As if she’d said Gee woe!.

Says he, “They’ve only taken him

To the Tender ship, you see”;

“The Tender-ship,” cried Sally Brown

“What a hard-ship that must be!”.

“O! would I were a mermaid now,

For then I’d follow him;

But Oh!–I’m not a fish-woman,

And so I cannot swim.

“Alas! I was not born beneath

The virgin and the scales,

So I must curse my cruel stars,

And walk about in Wales.”

Now Ben had sail’d to many a place

That’s underneath the world;

But in two years the ship came home,

And all her sails were furl’d.

But when he call’d on Sally Brown,

To see how she went on,

He found she’d got another Ben,

Whose Christian-name was John.

“O Sally Brown, O Sally Brown,

How could you serve me so?

I’ve met with many a breeze before,

But never such a blow”:

Then reading on his ‘bacco box

He heaved a bitter sigh,

And then began to eye his pipe,

And then to pipe his eye.

And then he tried to sing “All’s Well,”

But could not though he tried;

His head was turn’d, and so he chew’d

His pigtail till he died.

His death, which happen’d in his berth,

At forty-odd befell:

They went and told the sexton, and

The sexton toll’d the bell.

Come live with me and be my love
Famous poem by Christopher Marlowe

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of th purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds’ swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.

Life in a Love
Famous love poems by Robert Browning

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 too 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 to begin again,—
So the chase 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 drops to ground
Than a new one, straight to the selfsame mark,
I shape me—
Ever
Removed!

On His Late Wife
Poem by John Milton

Methought I saw my late espousèd saint

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,

Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gave,

Rescued from death by force though pale and faint.

Mine as whom washed from spot of childbed taint,

Purification in the old law did save,

And such, as yet once more I trust to have

Full sight of her in heaven without restraint,

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind:

Her face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight,

Love, sweetness, goodness in her person shined

So clear, as in no face with more delight.

But O as to embrace me she inclined

I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night.