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Updated: June 12, 2025
Valentines have to be love-poems, and Spring is 'most always in a love-poem." "Yes, I s'pose it is. I'd like to do some funny ones. I'm not much good at sentimental poetry. I guess I'll do one for King. Here's a picture of a bird carrying a ring in its beak. Ring rhymes with King, you know." "Oh, yes, make one of those limerick things: 'There was a young fellow named King, "
"But I fear the heat of my late ague hath dried up those springs, by which scholars say the Muses use to take up their habitations. However, I need not their help to reprove the vanity of those many love-poems, that are daily writ, and consecrated to Venus; nor to bewail that so few are writ, that look towards God and Heaven.
The high and human love-poetry is all about division rather than identity; and in the great love-poems even the man as he embraces the woman sees her, in the same instant, afar off; a virgin and a stranger. For the first injustice, of which we have spoken, still recurs; and if we grant that the East has a right to its difference, it is not realised in what we differ.
What Madonna Vittoria said was splendid sense, and I applauded it lustily, and made her my vows that it should be my business to seek out my Dante and bring him to her thinking. And then we passed from that matter to talk of love-poems, and from love-poems to lovers, and from lovers to the art of love.
They sat in silence for a long time, she thinking desperately and he pondering upon his love which had departed. He knew, now, that he had not really loved her. It was an idealized Ruth he had loved, an ethereal creature of his own creating, the bright and luminous spirit of his love-poems.
He received letters from editors like the following: "About a year ago we were unfortunate enough to refuse your collection of love-poems. We were greatly impressed by them at the time, but certain arrangements already entered into prevented our taking them. If you still have them, and if you will be kind enough to forward them, we shall be glad to publish the entire collection on your own terms.
To sum up the principal facts of Mr. This continues up to the year 1603, when the earl of Southampton was released from prison, the dramatic sonnets being interspersed with personal ones. The second series are love-poems written for William Herbert, and addressed to Lady Rich, who is supposed by Mr. To make out this complicated story, Mr.
I have never loved." "You!" And all those stories those countrymen of his had spread abroad, all his own love-poems were in that exclamation. "No never mortal woman. Only statues and the beautiful dead dream-women, vanished with the neiges d'antan. What did it matter whom I married? Perhaps you would have had me aspire higher than a grisette? To a tradesman's daughter? Or a demoiselle in society?
"You will tell her that what I wrote to her is not a millionth part of what I feel that she is my sun by day and my moon and stars by night, that I must marry her at once or die, that I think of nothing in the world but her, that I can do, write, plan, nothing without her, that once she smiles on me I will write her great love-poems, greater than Byron's, greater than Heine's the real Song of Songs, which is Pinchas's that I will make her immortal as Dante made Beatrice, as Petrarch made Laura, that I walk about wretched, bedewing the pavements with my tears, that I sleep not by night nor eat by day you will tell her this?"
It is as if the passion in his verse were again and again entangled in the devices of art. If we take his love-poems as a whole, however, the passion in them is at once vehement and beautiful. The world has not yet sufficiently realized how deep is the passion that has given shape to Mr. Yeats's verse. The Wind Among the Reeds is a book of love-poetry quite unlike all other books of love-poetry.
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