Magnetic, electric, eclectic eyes, That shine like frozen diamonds raised by sunlight, Decorated by free-falling hair that parades and cascades With the freedom of flight, that will best strike Those able to see the beauty within, that goes beyond mere skin
I’ve quoted countless of my favourite poems, but I do like to share my own work too. The last one, She Loved Me Once, was in June, so I was certainly due.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too – While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue
From the last stanza of To Autumn by the beloved English romantic poet John Keats (1795 – 1821). Despite his hugely untimely death at aged 25, Keats is still considered one of the greatest ever poets. You can my other favourite lines from his Ode to a Nightingale poemhere.
The first memory we hold The poignant story we were always told The first kiss we received The lovely fantasies we once believed The fantastic gifts we got The ice creams we had when hot The first person we had a crush on Those neighbours with whom we always got along The first difficult obstacle we got through The wise words we’ve always listened to.
I wrote this poem a while ago and came across it when tidying my room and looking through some old papers. Hope you like it.
I loved you, and I probably still do, And for a while the feeling may remain… But let my love no longer trouble you, I do not wish to cause you any pain. I loved you; and the hopelessness I knew, The jealousy, the shyness – though in vain – Made up a love so tender and so true As may God grant you to be loved again.
The bittersweet poem I loved You (1830) by Russian poet Alexander Pushkin, best known for his writings in the Romantic era of 1800 – 1850.
Soldiers are citizens of death’s grey land,
Drawing no dividend from time’s to-morrows.
In the great hour of destiny they stand,
Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows.
Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win
Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives.
Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin
They think of firelit homes, clean beds and wives.
From childhood’s hour I have not been As others were; I have not seen As others saw; I could not bring My passions from a common spring. From the same source I have not taken My sorrow; I could not awaken My heart to joy at the same tone; And all I loved, I loved alone.
The opening lines of the poem Alone (1829), written by tortured Gothic genius Edgar Allan Poe when he was 20 years old.