Love poems are timeless and universal because they convey the language of the
heart: those special feelings of enchantment and romance. When you
recite poetry to the person you are dating, it matters little that
someone else wrote the words—what counts is the feeling with which it is
Court your lover like a romantic of long ago—sweep her off her feet. And all you Girlfriends out there, study up on romance—because in today's world—you must also woo your man.
Scroll down to read our entire collection. To submit a love poem that you have written, click on the link. Make sure to cite the author.
Whether you're a teen, a dating young or thirty-something single or have been married for twenty years, you'll find a poem below to light the fire of your romantic nature and keep it burning brightly.
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Sonnet XLIII From the Portuguese
~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 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.
One heartbreak is like a thousand lessons.
Loving again is learning them.
~ Sandra McKendry
Go, ill-sped book, and whisper to her or
storm out the message for her only ear
that she is beautiful.
Mention sunsets, be not silent of her eyes
and mouth and other prospects, praise her size,
say her figure is full . . .
~ John Berryman ~
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I ne'er was struck before that hour
With love so sudden and so sweet,
Her face it bloomed like a sweet flower
And stole my heart away complete.
My face turned pale as deadly pale,
My legs refused to walk away,
And when she looked, what could I ail?
My life and all seemed to turn to clay.
And then my blood rushed to my face
And took my eyesight quite away,
The trees and bushes round the place
Seemed midnight at noonday.
I could not see a single thing,
Words from my eyes did start -
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
She seemed to hear my silent voice,
Not love's appeals to know.
I never saw so sweet a face
As that I stood before.
My heart has left its dwelling-place
And can return no more.
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