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I'm really a romantic at heart.

quote by Christopher Atkins
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[9] O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!

O, Moon, My Sweet-heart!
[LOVE POEMS]

POET: MAHENDRA BHATNAGAR

POEMS

1 Passion And Compassion / 1
2 Affection
3 Willing To Live
4 Passion And Compassion / 2
5 Boon
6 Remembrance
7 Pretext
8 To A Distant Person
9 Perception
10 Conclusion
10 You (1)
11 Symbol
12 You (2)
13 In Vain
14 One Night
15 Suddenly
16 Meeting
17 Touch
18 Face To Face
19 Co-Traveller
20 Once And Once only
21 Touchstone
22 In Chorus
23 Good Omens
24 Even Then
25 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (1)
26 An Evening At ‘Tighiraa’ (2)
27 Life Aspirant
28 To The Condemned Woman
29 A Submission
30 At Midday
31 I Accept
32 Who Are You?
33 Solicitation
34 Accept Me
35 Again After Ages …
36 Day-Dreaming
37 Who Are You?
38 You Embellished In Song

[...] Read more

poem by Mahendra Bhatnagar
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What Would You Like

Tell me you name, tell me your sign.
Please tell me that my mind is right.
I just want to take you to my home.
Where we can talk by a fire all alone.
There's just one thing that I need to know.
Could you ever be there when I woke up,
Or will you be just another and be gone?

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

I take one look at you and my heart can't stop smiling.
It begins to display on the outside and my lips curl up.
Looking at you from across the void I can see my life with you.
You take a glance at me and can't help but notice to.
I walk around the corner and fade out of your sight.
I love playing this game.

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

You chase me around the corner at the end of the aisle.
And we both meet each other eye to eye.
My hands behind my back.
Can you guess what I've got in mind.
Oh I think you'll be suprized.
You look at me and begin to smile.

Should I buy you a dozen roses?
Should I write you a love poem,
Of how my heart can't stop beating for you?
Should I take you to a lakeside with a romantic dinner?
Would you like candle light flickering in front of us?
Would you like the lovely words that could roll off my tongue?
Would you like me to express how much you mean to me?
Would you like that soft romantic music in the background?

I see the moonlight fall across your face as you sleep.

[...] Read more

poem by Josh Burnett
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Romantic Understandings

You've got me on a tightrope and trembling too!
This is not...
Romantic understanding.

You've got me so uptight I don't know what to do.
This is not...
Romantic understanding.

Tell me why,
Romantic understanding...
You aint got hip to yet!
Tell me why,
Romantic understandings...
From you I might not get.

Tell me why,
There's no romantic understanding.
Why...
There's no chance for romance.

And,
Tell me why...
There's no romantic understanding.
Or a chance for romance!

You've got me on a tightrope and trembling too!
You've got me so uptight I don't know what to do.

Tell me why,
There's no romantic understanding.
Why...
There's no chance for romance.

You've got me on a tightrope and trembling too!
You've got me so uptight I don't know what to do.
Can you.
Can you.
Can you...
I bet you can,
Tell me why,
There's no romantic understanding.
Why...
There's no chance for romance.

Tell me why,
Romantic understanding...
You aint got hip to yet!

Tell me why,
Romantic understandings...

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Undying One- Canto III

'THERE is a sound the autumn wind doth make
Howling and moaning, listlessly and low:
Methinks that to a heart that ought to break
All the earth's voices seem to murmur so.
The visions that crost
Our path in light--
The things that we lost
In the dim dark night--
The faces for which we vainly yearn--
The voices whose tones will not return--
That low sad wailing breeze doth bring
Borne on its swift and rushing wing.
Have ye sat alone when that wind was loud,
And the moon shone dim from the wintry cloud?
When the fire was quench'd on your lonely hearth,
And the voices were still which spoke of mirth?

If such an evening, tho' but one,
It hath been yours to spend alone--
Never,--though years may roll along
Cheer'd by the merry dance and song;
Though you mark'd not that bleak wind's sound before,
When louder perchance it used to roar--
Never shall sound of that wintry gale
Be aught to you but a voice of wail!
So o'er the careless heart and eye
The storms of the world go sweeping by;
But oh! when once we have learn'd to weep,
Well doth sorrow his stern watch keep.
Let one of our airy joys decay--
Let one of our blossoms fade away--
And all the griefs that others share
Seem ours, as well as theirs, to bear:
And the sound of wail, like that rushing wind
Shall bring all our own deep woe to mind!

'I went through the world, but I paused not now
At the gladsome heart and the joyous brow:
I went through the world, and I stay'd to mark
Where the heart was sore, and the spirit dark:
And the grief of others, though sad to see,
Was fraught with a demon's joy to me!

'I saw the inconstant lover come to take
Farewell of her he loved in better days,
And, coldly careless, watch the heart-strings break--
Which beat so fondly at his words of praise.
She was a faded, painted, guilt-bow'd thing,
Seeking to mock the hues of early spring,
When misery and years had done their worst

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
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Isnt It Romantic

(eric carmen/andy goldmark)
Are the stars just shining brighter?
Is that perfume in the air?
Seems the moon has got control of me
And I dont really care
With our bodies gently swaying
To the rhythm of the night
Has there ever been a place or time
That ever felt so right
Oh, Ive dreamed about this moment
Ever since I saw your face
Now I never wanna let it slip away
Isnt it romantic
How our kisses seem to set the night on fire?
Baby, when I look at you it takes my breath away
Isnt it romantic
When we close our eyes and hold each other tight?
If only love could always be this way
Theres a samba playing somewhere
Or is it just my beating heart?
I can swear I hear the strumming of
A classical guitar
Playing softly while you whisper
All the words Ive longed to hear
As I pull your body close to mine
The world just disappears
Oh, I dreamed about this moment
Ever since I saw your face
Now I never wanna let it slip away
Isnt it romantic
How our kisses seem to set the night on fire?
Baby, when I look at you it takes my breath away
Isnt it romantic
When we close our eyes and hold each other tight?
If only love could always be this way
Isnt it romantic
How our kisses seem to set the night on fire?
Baby, when I look at you it takes my breath away
Isnt it romantic
When we close our eyes and hold each other tight?
If only love could always be this way
Isnt it romantic
How our kisses seem to set the night on fire?
Baby, when I look at you it takes my breath away
Isnt it romantic
When we close our eyes and hold each other tight?
If only love could always be this way

song performed by Eric Carmen
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Romantic

Isn't it romantic

how the chrysalids land on the ice cubes

in our drink to wink

with sunlight and time

for the dawning double blind

Isn't it romantic

how wings unborn

are worn to be torn

from our aesthetic interpretation

Isn't it romantic

that we should be so kind as to blind

as to bind each other

belieing bespeak betraying

Isn't it romantic

that we should drink such potion to spite

foreknowledge of death

innate insecurity feigning

Isn't it romantic

how the oils shift smudge to smear coupling

seething suppling searing

precious delicate contours

How I miss your words

tender as tobacco

[...] Read more

poem by Randy Resh
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Romance Seconds Me, Where Ever I Go

In your old age you too are trailed romantic,
Adolescent, manhood, triangle, -the tricks .
Love in any form is romance,
It is either an intoxication or trance.
When romance says you good bye,
...Love from your life by itself flies..

When I write a poem, -I cry,
I had tried, I failed, I try.
You Beauty, -your hello lips,
Mellow voice, willowing-cave,
Youthful shape, flash in my rib ,

When I paint, -the Eye –romance,
The eternity peeps, and dances,
I say, simply, it is and I a romantic.

Shakespeare for the Dark Lady,
Turned romantic and shady,
Tagore, -swam in Labana’s lake,
He, you, and me, assumed fake,
Live and let live to bake romance’s cake
A little bioscope-romantic sake.

Is my birth for some One’s romance,
Between Time and Nature, -a romantic play,
Am I one of Every man’s humor?
With each change of transient –clay.

Satan’s virtue made Eve, romantic,
Adam’s test of forbidden fruit,
In our life’s flow installed romantic root.

Could I live without my mother,
Whose concern by virtue is romantic,
And with my darling oblivious,
My untold hang, whispers unheard song,
In her charmed magic, to saturate the prong.

My God is romance incarnate,
And the Fate I tackle is so,
Romance seconds me where ever I go

poem by Ray Subrata Ray
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Romance Seconds Me, Where Ever I Go

In your old age you too are trailed romantic,
Adolescent, manhood, triangle, -the tricks .
Love in any form is romance,
It is either an intoxication or trance.
When romance says you good bye,
...Love from your life by itself flies..

When I write a poem, -I cry,
I had tried, I failed, I try.
You Beauty, -your hello lips,
Mellow voice, willowing-cave,
Youthful shape, flash in my rib ,

When I paint, -the Eye –romance,
The eternity peeps, and dances,
I say, simply, it is and I a romantic.

Shakespeare for the Dark Lady,
Turned romantic and shady,
Tagore, -swam in Labana’s lake,
He, you, and me, assumed fake,
Live and let live to bake romance’s cake
A little bioscope-romantic sake.

Is my birth for some One’s romance,
Between Time and Nature, -a romantic play,
Am I one of Every man’s humor?
With each change of transient –clay.

Satan’s virtue made Eve, romantic,
Adam’s test of forbidden fruit,
In our life’s flow installed romantic root.

Could I live without my mother,
Whose concern by virtue is romantic,
And with my darling oblivious,
My untold hang, whispers unheard song,
In her charmed magic, to saturate the prong.

My God is romance incarnate,
And the Fate I tackle is so,
Romance seconds me where ever I go.

poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Three Women

My love is young, so young;
Young is her cheek, and her throat,
And life is a song to be sung
With love the word for each note.

Young is her cheek and her throat;
Her eyes have the smile o' May.
And love is the word for each note
In the song of my life to-day.

Her eyes have the smile o' May;
Her heart is the heart of a dove,
And the song of my life to-day
Is love, beautiful love.

Her heart is the heart of a dove,
Ah, would it but fly to my breast
Where love, beautiful love,
Has made it a downy nest.

Ah, would she but fly to my breast,
My love who is young, so young;
I have made her a downy nest
And life is a song to be sung.

1
I.
A dull little station, a man with the eye
Of a dreamer; a bevy of girls moving by;
A swift moving train and a hot Summer sun,
The curtain goes up, and our play is begun.
The drama of passion, of sorrow, of strife,
Which always is billed for the theatre Life.
It runs on forever, from year unto year,
With scarcely a change when new actors appear.
It is old as the world is-far older in truth,
For the world is a crude little planet of youth.
And back in the eras before it was formed,
The passions of hearts through the Universe stormed.

Maurice Somerville passed the cluster of girls
Who twisted their ribbons and fluttered their curls
In vain to attract him; his mind it was plain
Was wholly intent on the incoming train.
That great one eyed monster puffed out its black breath,
Shrieked, snorted and hissed, like a thing bent on death,

[...] Read more

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Are You Really a True Romantic?

I wonder, where have all the True Romantics gone? ... there are, but few
still flowering... still spinning dreams, still weaving words of love so true.
For, when l read a book, or watch a movie... perhaps, read a line
or two of poetry... l know that, somewhere in there, l will find
some bitter, shadowy undertone... perhaps, to spice some ailing plot?
True feelings, it may well reflect...
but True Romantic? ...
l think not.

The True Romantic is a gentle soul... a Literary Unicorn,
existing in a Golden Land, from where the sweet, soft dreams are born;
all spun from strands of pure romance... this bright-eyed hope of love, so fair;
no shadows here, to spoil the magic woven from the heart, with care.
The Unicorn is, but a dream... in myth, beyond our sight... far lost;
but, lose the True Romantic... lose the dream;
is this, then worth the cost?

Perhaps, it is that we have wandered from the path, in modern days;
perhaps, it is not now correct... politically, to trace the ways
the great Romantics, down the ages weaved their bright and shining dreams,
yet, there was sadness... there was yearning in their works...
but, now.... it seems
that all emotions... good or bad, must be displayed... the darker side;
the negativity of love... when lost, betrayed...
or just, denied.

So, is this some analysis... some facet of psychology
the author feels a need to show?
for it is not quite poetry,
or writing in the manner of the True Romantic... can't they see
the True Romantic's dream just cannot mix with grim reality?
As different as chalk and cheese; a world apart... a different thing
from the tapestry of dreaming that the True Romantic spins.

It is certain, that this rhyme will ruffle feathers far and wide...
but, the words therein contain the truth... it cannot be denied.
When seeking out the True Romantic's world, so many paths unfold
a promise of this Golden Land; yet seven in ten are dead and cold;
leading nowhere, but, to broken hearts... and sweet dreams, cruelly blighted...
the True Romantics work must leave imaginations
quite delighted.

Perhaps the authors of today, beset by cultural platitudes;
the realists... the avant garde... the modernistic attitudes,
have somehow, lost their bright-eyed innocence...
the touchstone of Romance;
if, this is so; then sad to say... they really do not stand a chance
of ever really dreaming Golden dreams... as True Romantics do...
Will the tiny flame still flicker in the dark?
l do hope so.

poem by Dream Weaver
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Rose Mary

Of her two fights with the Beryl-stone
Lost the first, but the second won.

PART I

“MARY mine that art Mary's Rose
Come in to me from the garden-close.
The sun sinks fast with the rising dew,
And we marked not how the faint moon grew;
But the hidden stars are calling you.
“Tall Rose Mary, come to my side,
And read the stars if you'd be a bride.
In hours whose need was not your own,
While you were a young maid yet ungrown
You've read the stars in the Beryl-stone.
“Daughter, once more I bid you read;
But now let it be for your own need:
Because to-morrow, at break of day,
To Holy Cross he rides on his way,
Your knight Sir James of Heronhaye.
“Ere he wed you, flower of mine,
For a heavy shrift he seeks the shrine.
Now hark to my words and do not fear;
Ill news next I have for your ear;
But be you strong, and our help is here.
“On his road, as the rumour's rife,
An ambush waits to take his life.
He needs will go, and will go alone;
Where the peril lurks may not be known;
But in this glass all things are shown.”
Pale Rose Mary sank to the floor:—
“The night will come if the day is o'er!”
“Nay, heaven takes counsel, star with star,
And help shall reach your heart from afar:
A bride you'll be, as a maid you are.”
The lady unbound her jewelled zone
And drew from her robe the Beryl-stone.
Shaped it was to a shadowy sphere,—
World of our world, the sun's compeer,
That bears and buries the toiling year.
With shuddering light 'twas stirred and strewn
Like the cloud-nest of the wading moon:
Freaked it was as the bubble's ball,
Rainbow-hued through a misty pall
Like the middle light of the waterfall.
Shadows dwelt in its teeming girth
Of the known and unknown things of earth;
The cloud above and the wave around,—
The central fire at the sphere's heart bound,
Like doomsday prisoned underground.

[...] Read more

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Forever More

Baby, Ive just been sitting here thinking, how blessed I am to have someone
Like you in my life and Im so excited so so excited about being with you for
The rest of my life listen
Looking at all theses hand, damn I use to be alonely man, could never
Understand, why I had no one to take my hand but then the weather changed
Mother-nature brought the sun my way, now girl your who I am and I have you for
The rest of my days.....
How the sun comes up in the early morning time, girl I vowel to be forever
Loving you rain or shine, how the moon takes us on this romantic globe Ill be
Lovin you forever more... oooh oh yeah
Now I used to think that I would never, have a serious relationship, always
Praying for that one to come along and give me what I miss, but now those
Thoughts are no more, every since you came into my life, its like heaven
Opened up its doors, showered down on me the perfect wife....oooh ohhh
How the sun comes up in the early morning time girl, I vowel to be forever
Loving you rain or shine, how the moon takes us on this romantic globe Ill be
Lovin you forever more... oooh oh yeah oh yeah
Baby, now our house, our house, is a home, the car, we own, whats mine is
Yours, the keys to the doors, my family, my family, my friend, my friends, the
Church, we belong together, heaven drum say, our house is a home the car, we
Own, whats mine is yours the keys to the doors, my family, my family, my
Friend, my friends the church we belong together and its on...
How the sun comes up in the early morning time girl I vowel to be forever
Loving you rain or shine, how the moon takes us on this romantic globe Ill be
Lovin you forever more...
How the sun comes up in the early morning time girl I vowel to be forever
Loving you rain or shine, how the moon takes us on this romantic globe Ill be
Lovin you forever more...
How the sun comes up in the early morning time girl I vowel to be forever
Loving you rain or shine, how the moon takes us on this romantic globe Ill be
Lovin you forever more...
How the sun comes up in the early morning time girl I vowel to be forever
Loving you rain or shine, how the moon takes us on this romantic globe Ill be
Lovin you forever more...
How the sun comes up in the early morning time girl I vowel to be forever
Loving you rain or shine, how the moon takes us on this romantic globe Ill be
Lovin you forever more...

song performed by R. Kelly
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In Defense of Romantic Love

She said:
'In defense of Love I have only Faith and Necessity to offer;
without Romantic Love I fear the species dies.'

'Well' he said 'Romantic Love is a recent and western notion you see
and has existed only in the last 200 years and mostly in the west-invented I think by the Victorians and the Romantic Poets.''

'So tell me then my friend' he said 'what is Romantic Love good for? Is it not best to assure that a couple has good families involved since after all is it
not true that what is happening here is not a tryst but two families coming
together?
And too, no couple can make it alone on Love's Grist..

Arranged marriages has been the norm and is the best if the test is
longevity.'Romantic Love too often he said ends in Unromantic divorce miserable kids and True Love's Adversities.

'Are you saying then she said we jettison Romantic Love and its pursuits? '
'In that case let me state, then combine, what I take to be True Love's true defenses.
Love its true, is the bonding start, but behind that is unlimited Faith in the
the Other unrelenting.
Otherwise we would all marry only near clones of ourselves
and destroy, in life and family, all variety.

'Even cave people insisted that marriages take place outside the tribe with others not only to avoid incest but, too, to diversity the gene pool which
undiversified would result in the death of the species due to genetic stultification.'

'So Romeo and Juliet came to a bad end but their idea was correct. Opposites attract for good reason. It is built into the genes.

So in defense of Romantic Love there can be no higher defense than this.
What does marriage arrangements offer in retort- a dull family contract
endless tryists, and consorts where old men marry young girls who emotionally bolt and emotionally re-marry some younger buck.
Or if of similar age, they stay together for the sake of family.
Humm, too often this home feels like prison camp.
No carry me away to Love's excess even if under distress it may crumble
but lacking love in marriage is no bliss and looks more like accommodation
lacking True Love's Sweetness.
Ah, he said we both have our view on Love and no-love estrangement:
perhaps we two could make some arrangement and see if True Love blooms?
She smiled 'Well, they say True Love begins with humor.
Sure, let's talk some more.'
He said;
'Beautiful.'

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Gertrude of Wyoming

PART I

On Susquehanna's side, fair Wyoming!
Although the wild-flower on thy ruin'd wall,
And roofless homes, a sad remembrance bring,
Of what thy gentle people did befall;
Yet thou wert once the loveliest land of all
That see the Atlantic wave their morn restore.
Sweet land! may I thy lost delights recall,
And paint thy Gertrude in her bowers of yore,
Whose beauty was the love of Pennsylvania's shore!

Delightful Wyoming! beneath thy skies,
The happy shepherd swains had nought to do
But feed their flocks on green declivities,
Or skim perchance thy lake with light canoe,
From morn till evening's sweeter pastimes grew,
With timbrel, when beneath the forests brown,
Thy lovely maidens would the dance renew;
And aye those sunny mountains half-way down
Would echo flageolet from some romantic town.

Then, where of Indian hills the daylight takes
His leave, how might you the flamingo see
Disporting like a meteor on the lakes--
And playful squirrel on his nut-grown tree:
And every sound of life was full of glee,
From merry mock-bird's song, or hum of men;
While hearkening, fearing naught their revelry,
The wild deer arch'd his neck from glades, and then,
Unhunted, sought his woods and wilderness again.

And scarce had Wyoming of war or crime
Heard, but in transatlantic story rung,
For here the exile met from every clime,
And spoke in friendship every distant tongue:
Men from the blood of warring Europe sprung
Were but divided by the running brook;
And happy where no Rhenish trumpet sung,
On plains no sieging mine's volcano shook,
The blue-eyed German changed his sword to pruning-hook.

Nor far some Andalusian saraband
Would sound to many a native roundelay--
But who is he that yet a dearer land
Remembers, over hills and far away?
Green Albin! what though he no more survey
Thy ships at anchor on the quiet shore,
Thy pelloch's rolling from the mountain bay,
Thy lone sepulchral cairn upon the moor,

[...] Read more

poem by Thomas Campbell
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Courtship of Miles Standish, The

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Isn't It Romantic

(feat. Dave Koz)
I've never met you, yet never doubt you
I can't forget you
I've thought you out, dear
I know your profile and I know the way you kiss
Just the thing I miss
On a night like this
If dreams are made of imagination
I'm not afraid of my own creation
With all my heart my heart is here for you to take
Why should I quake
I'm not awake
Isn't it romantic?
Music in the night, a dream that can be heard.
Isn't it romantic?
Moving shadows write the oldest magic word.
I hear the breezes playing in the trees above
While all the world is saying you were meant for love.
Isn't it romantic
Merely to be young on such a night as this?
Isn't it romantic?
Every note that's sung is like a lover's kiss.
Sweet symbols in the moonlight,
Do you mean that I will fall in love per chance?
Isn't it romance?
[Instrumental]
I hear the breezes playing in the trees above
While all the world is saying you were meant for love.
Isn't it romantic
Merely to be young on such a night as this?
Isn't it romantic?
Every note that's sung is like a lover's kiss.
Sweet symbols in the moonlight,
Do you mean that I will fall in love per chance?
Isn't it romance?
Isn't it romance?
Isn't it romance?

song performed by Rod Stewart
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Romantic Life Adventure!

Sentimental, emotional, great characters love romantic life;
Passionate, engaged and attached they like to live long life;
Fun, entertainment and amusements they have in romance;
Romantic love life these human beings live true to heart ever!

Longing for love they do all to get the hand of sweet heart;
Love, marriages and divorces and love again they try ever!
For the satisfaction of the self they do romance forever here
And live alone ever in life longing for love till the end comes.

Romantic fellows lament about the friends and loves lost in life;
Beginning, middle and end the means followed never the same
Because adventure is the spice and taste of romantic life here;
Many yet live romantic life because the pleasure is exotic ever!

A romantic life is the dream of many a guy and girl since long
Though success is rare failures they are ready to face and die!

poem by Ramesh T A
Added by Poetry Lover
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A Romantic Life Adventure!

Sentimental, emotional, great characters love romantic life;
Passionate, engaged and attached they like to live long life;
Fun, entertainment and amusements they have in romance;
Romantic love life these human beings live true to heart ever!

Longing for love they do all to get the hand of sweet heart;
Love, marriages and divorces and love again they try ever!
For the satisfaction of the self they do romance forever here
And live alone ever in life longing for love till the end comes.

Romantic fellows lament about the friends and loves lost in life;
Beginning, middle and end the means followed never the same
Because adventure is the spice and taste of romantic life here;
Many yet live romantic life because the pleasure is exotic ever!

A romantic life is the dream of many a guy and girl since long
Though success is rare failures they are ready to face and die!

poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Courtship of Miles Standish

I
MILES STANDISH

In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.

Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Troubadour. Canto 2

THE first, the very first; oh! none
Can feel again as they have done;
In love, in war, in pride, in all
The planets of life's coronal,
However beautiful or bright,--
What can be like their first sweet light?

When will the youth feel as he felt,
When first at beauty's feet he knelt?

As if her least smile could confer
A kingdom on its worshipper;
Or ever care, or ever fear
Had cross'd love's morning hemisphere.
And the young bard, the first time praise
Sheds its spring sunlight o'er his lays,
Though loftier laurel, higher name,
May crown the minstrel's noontide fame,
They will not bring the deep content
Of his lure's first encouragement.
And where the glory that will yield
The flush and glow of his first field
To the young chief? Will RAYMOND ever
Feel as he now is feeling?--Never.

The sun wept down or ere they gain'd
The glen where the chief band remain'd.

It was a lone and secret shade,
As nature form'd an ambuscade
For the bird's nest and the deer's lair,
Though now less quiet guests were there.
On one side like a fortress stood
A mingled pine and chesnut wood;
Autumn was falling, but the pine
Seem'd as it mock'd all change; no sign
Of season on its leaf was seen,
The same dark gloom of changeless green.
But like the gorgeous Persian bands
'Mid the stern race of northern lands,
The chesnut boughs were bright with all
That gilds and mocks the autumn's fall.

Like stragglers from an army's rear
Gradual they grew, near and less near,
Till ample space was left to raise,
Amid the trees, the watch-fire's blaze;
And there, wrapt in their cloaks around,
The soldiers scatter'd o'er the ground.

[...] Read more

poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Added by Poetry Lover
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