Poetry is the spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings: it takes its origin from emotion recollected in tranquility.

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William Wordsworth Lyrical Ballads

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On Waterloo Bridge where we said our goodbyes,
the weather conditions bring tears to my eyes.
I wipe them away with a black woolly glove
And try not to notice I've fallen in love
On Waterloo Bridge I am trying to think:
This is nothing. you're high on the charm and the drink.
But the juke-box inside me is playing a song
That says something different. And when was it wrong?
On Waterloo Bridge with the wind in my hair
I am tempted to skip. You're a fool. I don't care.
the head does its best but the heart is the boss-
I admit it before I am halfway across

Rᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ✍️
Wendy Cope Serious Concerns

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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 belovèd's bed;
And so thy thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

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Percy Bysshe Shelley The Complete Poems

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No drowning man can know which drop
Of water his last breath did stop

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Charles Sedley

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It is at the edge of the
petal that love waits

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William Carlos Williams Spring and All

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Where are you hiding my love?
Each day without you will never come again.
Even today you missed a sunset on the ocean,
A silver shadow on yellow rocks I saved for you,
A squirrel that ran across the road,
A duck diving for dinner.
My God! There may be nothing left to show you
Save wounds and weariness
And hopes grown dead,
And wilted flowers I picked for you a lifetime ago,
Or feeble steps that cannot run to hold you,
Arms too tired to offer you to a roaring wind,
A face too wrinkled to feel the ocean's spray.

Rᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇ✍️
James Kavanaugh There Are Men Too Gentle to Live Among Wolves

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He woke her then, and trembling and obedient, she ate that burning heart out of his hand. Weeping, I saw him then depart from me. Could he daily feel a stab of hunger for her? Find nourishment in the very sight of her? I think so. But would she see through the bars of his plight, and ache for him?

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Dante Alighieri edited

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Waking At Night
The blue river is grey at morning
and evening. There is twilight
at dawn and dusk. I lie in the dark
wondering if this quiet in me now
is a beginning or an end.

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Jack Gilbert The Dance Most of All: Poems

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The Abandoned Valley
Can you understand being alone so long
you would go out in the middle of the night
and put a bucket into the well
so you could feel something down there
tug at the other end of the rope?

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Jack Gilbert Refusing Heaven

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Look in my face; my name is Might-have-been;
I am also call'd No-more, Too-late, Farewell

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Dante Gabriel Rossetti The House of Life

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