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Short Valentine's Day Love Poems

Valentine's Day and love go together hand-in-hand, and what is a better way to help celebrate this special day by reading poetry? Of course, sometimes we want something small enough to fit on a card or small enough for us to remember. These poems listed below are a perfect example of some of the best and short poems for you to enjoy.

You'll Love Me Yet! a poem by Robert Browning

You'll love me yet!--and I can tarry
Your love's protracted growing;
June rear'd that bunch of flowers you carry
From seeds of April's sowing.

I plant a heartful now: some seed
At least is sure to strike,
And yield--what you'll not pluck indeed,
Not love, but, may be, like.

You'll look at least on love's remains,
A grave's one violet:
Your look?--that pays a thousand pains.
What's death? You'll love me yet!

Is it too late to touch you, Dear? a poem by Emily Dickinson

Is it too late to touch you, Dear?
We this moment knew --
Love Marine and Love terrene --
Love celestial too --

Love a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge

And in Life's noisiest hour,
There whispers still the ceaseless Love of Thee,
The heart's Self-solace and soliloquy.
You mould my Hopes, you fashion me within ;
And to the leading Love-throb in the Heart
Thro' all my Being, thro' my pulse's beat ;
You lie in all my many Thoughts, like Light,
Like the fair light of Dawn, or summer Eve
On rippling Stream, or cloud-reflecting Lake.
And looking to the Heaven, that bends above you,
How oft! I bless the Lot that made me love

Farewell Love a poem by Thomas Wyatt

Farewell, Love, and all thy laws for ever: 
Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more. 
Senec and Plato call me from thy lore, 
To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavour. 
In blind error when I did persever, 
Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore, 
Hath taught me to set in trifles no store, 
And scape forth, since liberty is lever. 
Therefore farewell, go trouble younger hearts, 
And in me claim no more authority; 
With idle youth go use thy property, 
And thereon spend thy many brittle darts. 
For, hitherto though I've lost my time, 
Me lusteth no longer rotten boughs to climb.

Helas a poem by Oscar Wilde

To drift with every passion till my soul
Is a stringed lute on which all winds can play,
Is it for this that I have given away
Mine ancient wisdom, and austere control?
Methinks my life is a twice-written scroll
Scrawled over on some boyish holiday
With idle songs for pipe and virelay,
Which do but mar the secret of the whole.
Surely there was a time I might have trod
The sunlit heights, and from life's dissonance
Struck one clear chord to reach the ears of God.
Is that time dead? lo! with a little rod
I did but touch the honey of romance
And must I lose a soul's inheritance?

To A Husband a poem by Anne Finch

This is to the crown and blessing of my life,
The much loved husband of a happy wife;
To him whose constant passion found the art
To win a stubborn and ungrateful heart,
And to the world by tenderest proof discovers
They err, who say that husbands can't be lovers.
With such return of passion, as is due,
Daphnis I love, Daphinis my thoughts pursue;
Daphnis, my hopes and joys are bounded all in you.
Even I, for Daphnis' and my promise' sake,
What I in woman censure, undertake.
But this from love, not vanity proceeds;
You know who writes, and I who 'tis that reads.
Judge not my passion by my want of skill:
Many love well, though they express it ill;
And I your censure could with pleasure bear,
Would you but soon return, and speak it here.