Thanks to Tori and Mary Emily who both submitted this e. e. cummings poem. It’s one of my favorites, too. If you haven’t sent your favorite poem yet, it’s not too late.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
Here are my favorite sonnets by Shakespeare. The first could be given as a party favor if you’re having a Valentine’s Day party and watching Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. The poem is used in the movie twice.
|Let me not to the marriage of true minds|
|Admit impediments. Love is not love|
|Which alters when it alteration finds,|
|Or bends with the remover to remove:|
|O no! it is an ever-fixed mark|
|That looks on tempests and is never shaken;|
|It is the star to every wandering bark,|
|Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.|
|Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks|
|Within his bending sickle’s compass come:|
|Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,|
|But bears it out even to the edge of doom.|
|If this be error and upon me proved,|
|I never writ, nor no man ever loved.|
I also love these:
|When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,|
|I all alone beweep my outcast state|
|And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries|
|And look upon myself and curse my fate,|
|Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,|
|Featured like him, like him with friends possess’d,|
|Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,|
|With what I most enjoy contented least;|
|Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,|
|Haply I think on thee, and then my state,|
|Like to the lark at break of day arising|
|From sullen earth, sings hymns at heaven’s gate;|
|For thy sweet love remember’d such wealth brings|
|That then I scorn to change my state with kings.|
|Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?|
|Thou art more lovely and more temperate:|
|Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,|
|And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:|
|Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,|
|And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;|
|And every fair from fair sometime declines,|
|By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;|
|But thy eternal summer shall not fade|
|Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;|
|Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,|
|When in eternal lines to time thou growest:|
|So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,|
|So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
Love Song by Ranier Maria Rilke
How shall I hold on to my soul, so that
it does not touch yours? How shall I lift
it gently up over you on to other things?
I would so very much like to tuck it away
among long lost objects in the dark
in some quiet unknown place, somewhere
which remains motionless when your depths resound.
And yet everything which touches us, you and me,
takes us together like a single bow,
drawing out from two strings but one voice.
On which instrument are we strung?
And which violinist holds us in the hand?
O sweetest of songs.