|
Poetry: The
Language of Love
 Love poetry is a vehicle for the romantic in all of us to express how we really feel. It does not matter whether we have been lifted to the dizzy heights of paradise, or plunged to the very depths of darkness and despair by our love for another person. Poetry will enable us to unload our emotions, share our experiences, and in so doing let others realise they are not alone.
For centuries poets all over the globe have committed their zealous and passionate ardour to the realms or our literary heritage. William Shakespeare, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Tennyson and Byron to name but a few have dedicated their sentiments to verse.
Tennyson's Lady of Shalott deliberately brought down a curse that would inevitably lead to her death, just so that she could look upon her beloved Lancelot in the flesh and not through the reflection of a mirror.
The Lady of Shalott
On either side the river lie
Long fields of barley and of rye,
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;
And through the field the road run by
To many-tower'd Camelot;
And up and down the people go,
Gazing where the lilies blow
Round an island there below,
The island of Shalott.
Willows whiten, aspens quiver,
Little breezes dusk and shiver
Through the wave that runs for ever
By the island in the river
Flowing down to Camelot.
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,
Overlook a space of flowers,
And the silent isle imbowers
The Lady of Shalott.
Only reapers, reaping early,
In among the bearded barley
Hear a song that echoes cheerly
From the river winding clearly;
Down to tower'd Camelot;
And by the moon the reaper weary,
Piling sheaves in uplands airy,
Listening, whispers, " 'Tis the fairy
The Lady of Shalott."
There she weaves by night and day
A magic web with colours gay.
She has heard a whisper say,
A curse is on her if she stay
To look down to Camelot.
She knows not what the curse may be,
And so she weaveth steadily,
And little other care heat she,
The Lady of Shalott.
And moving through a mirror clear
That hangs before her all the year,
Shadows of the world appear.
There she sees the highway near
Winding down to Camelot;
And sometimes through the mirror blue
The knights come riding two and two.
She hath no loyal Knight and true,
The Lady of Shalott.
But in her web she still delights
To weave the mirror's magic sights,
For often through the silent nights
A funeral, with plumes and lights
And music, went to Camelot;
Or when the Moon was overhead,
Came two young lovers lately wed.
"I am half sick of shadows," said
The Lady of Shalott.
A bow-shot from her bower-eaves,
He rode between the barley sheaves,
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,
And flamed upon the brazen greaves
Of bold Sir Lancelot.
A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd
To a lady in his shield,
That sparkled on the yellow field,
Beside remote Shalott.
His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd;
On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;
From underneath his helmet flow'd
His coal-black curls as on he rode,
As he rode down to Camelot.
From the bank and from the river
He flashed into the crystal mirror,
"Tirra lirra," by the river
Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,
She made three paces through the room,
She saw the helmet and the plume,
She look'd down to Camelot.
Out flew the web and floated wide;
The mirror crack'd from side to side;
"The curse is come upon me," cried
The Lady of Shalott.
In the stormy east-wind straining,
The pale yellow woods were waning,
The broad stream in his banks complaining.
Heavily the low sky raining
Over tower'd Camelot;
Down she came and found a boat
Beneath a willow left afloat,
And around about the prow she wrote
The Lady of Shalott.
And down the river's dim expanse
Like some bold seer in a trance,
Seeing all his own mischance -
With a glassy countenance
Did she look to Camelot.
And at the closing of the day
She loosed the chain, and down she lay;
The broad stream bore her far away,
The Lady of Shalott.
Heard a carol, mournful, holy,
Chanted loudly, chanted lowly,
Till her blood was frozen slowly,
And her eyes were darkened wholly,
Turn'd to tower'd Camelot.
For ere she reach'd upon the tide
The first house by the water-side,
Singing in her song she died,
The Lady of Shalott.
Under tower and balcony,
By garden-wall and gallery,
A gleaming shape she floated by,
Dead-pale between the houses high,
Silent into Camelot.
Out upon the wharfs they came,
Knight and Burgher, Lord and Dame,
And around the prow they read her name,
The Lady of Shalott.
Who is this? And what is here?
And in the lighted palace near
Died the sound of royal cheer;
And they crossed themselves for fear,
All the Knights at Camelot;
But Lancelot mused a little space
He said, "She has a lovely face;
God in his mercy lend her grace,
The Lady of Shalott."
Alfred Lord Tennyson
Top
Then there is the sonnet from the Portuguese
'How do I Love Thee?'
which is probably
one of Elizabeth Barrett Browning's most beautiful and best-loved examples of romantic verse.
Not forgetting William Shakespeare's sonnet 'Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?' where he argues that although the beauty of nature will come to an end, his lover's beauty shall endure, because it will be immortalised within his poem to withstand the passage of time.
Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?
Shall I compare thee to a summer's day ?
Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
And summer's lease hath all too short a date:
Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
And often is his gold complexion dimmed,
And every fair from fair sometime declines,
By chance, or nature's changing course untrimmed;
But thy eternal summer shall not fade,
Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow'st,
Nor shall death brag thou wand'rest in his shade,
When in eternal lines to time thou grow'st;
So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see,
So long lives this, and this gives life to thee.
William Shakespeare
I do not personally find the writing of love poetry to be difficult or laborious. I simply allow my innermost feelings and emotions to pour out of my heart, through my pen, to explode in a myriad of sentiments onto the blank page. Let your heart take the lead, and you will too.
However if you lack confidence and would like some help to construct a poem of love, or just feel like trying something new, a step by step guide for writing sonnets and ballads can be found in our
Workshop
Alternatively, we are always requesting love poems for special anthologies from anyone that has suffered the heartbreak of unrequited love, the pain of betrayal, or indeed experienced the ecstatic pleasure of true love with their intended soul mate.
So come on let's rise to the challenge, give those poets of yesteryear a run for their money. Send in your poetry today,
show the world that the art of writing love poetry is still strong and thriving.
Submission
Guidelines
Byron was an English poet renowned for his sexual exploits and rebelliousness as well as his poetry. Both his works and lifestyle were attacked for immorality, but I would like to finish with a poem of his to contemplate at your leisure.
Sharon Spencer - Public Relations Assistant, Forward Press
Ltd
She Walks In Beauty
She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies,
And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o'er her face,
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!
Lord Byron
Top
Submissions Invited - A Mortal Blow
I am two fools, I know,
For loving, and for saying so
In whining poetry.
John Donne
No we are not asking you to write 'whining' poetry but love, of course, with its multifaceted nature has inspired poets through the ages. The pain - the pleasure - the sheer angst. 'If it doesn't hurt it isn't love.'
Send your love poems whenever the arrow
strikes!
Submission Guidelines:
Poems of no more than 30 lines in length
each will be considered. The address to send your
poem(s) to is: A Mortal Blow, Forward Press Ltd, Remus House, Coltsfoot Drive, Peterborough PE2 9JX
Please remember to write your name and address on each piece of work you send.
Alternatively,
you can email us your poems:
inbox@forwardpress.co.uk (Please include your name and
postal address.)
'No one would ever have fallen in love unless he had first read about it.'
Top
Here are more love poems by well-known poets:
The Garden of Love
I went to the Garden of Love.
And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.
And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And "Thou Shalt Not", writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore,
And I saw it filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.
William Blake
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 love 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 :
will love thee still, my Dear,
While the sands o' life shall run. And fare thee weel, my only Luve
And fare thee weel, a while !
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho' it were ten thousand mile.
Robert Burns
Music, When Soft Voices Die
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory -
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heap'd for the beloved's bed;
And so thy thoughts when thou are gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.
Percy Bysshe Shelley
She Dwelt Among the Untrodden Ways
She dwelt among the untrodden ways
Beside the springs of Dove,
A maid whom there were none to praise
And very few to love:
A violet by a mossy stone
Half hidden from the eye!
Fair as a star-- when only one
Is shining in the sky.
She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;
But she is in her grave, and, oh,
The difference to me!
William Wordsworth
The Rose in the Deeps of his Heart
All things uncomely and broken,
all things worn-out and old,
The cry of a child by the roadway,
the creak of a lumbering cart,
The heavy steps of the ploughman,
splashing the wintry mould,
Are wronging your image that blossoms
a rose in the deeps of my heart.
The wrong of unshapely things
is a wrong too great to be told,
I hunger to build them anew
and sit on a green knoll apart,
With the earth and the sky and the water,
remade, like a casket of gold
For my dreams of your image that blossoms
a rose in the deeps of my heart.
William Butler Yeats
Top
Britain's favourite love poem is Elizabeth Barrett Browning's
How do I love thee?
How do I love thee?
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 every day's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
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.
Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
1806-1861
The Nation's Favourite Love Poems | Daisy Goodwin
| ISBN: 056338378X
BBC Consumer Publishing (Books) | Paperback | Published: 2nd October 1997
£5.99
|
 |
The
Nation's Favourite Love Poems
BBC -
Edited by Daisy Goodwin
Looking for a love poem? 'The Nation's Favourite Love Poems' is a selection of the 100 most popular poems for romantics of all ages. Based on a nationwide poll, it includes classic verse from Shakespeare, Elizabeth Barrett Browning,
Yeats, Auden, Plath and Dickinson to contemporary poems such as John Fuller's Valentine and Ted Hughes'
Lovesong. This anthology is proof that Britain is a nation of romantics at heart.
More
info
Add
to Basket
|
Submission Guidelines:
Poems of no more than 30 lines in length
each will be considered. The address to send your
poem(s) to is: Love Poems, Forward Press Ltd, Remus House, Coltsfoot Drive, Peterborough PE2 9JX
Please remember to write your name and address on each piece of work you send.
Alternatively,
you can email us your poems:
inbox@forwardpress.co.uk (Please include your name and
postal address.)
Top
|
