Welcome to More Teen Love Poems #1

A lovely being, scarcely formed or moulded,
A rose with all its sweetest leaves yet folded.
Don Juan, Canto XV - Lord Byron
 

“Young, gay, and fortunate!” Each yields a theme.
And, first, thy youth: what says it to gray hairs?
Narcissa, I’m become thy pupil now;--
Early, bright, transient, chaste as morning dew,
She sparkled, was exhaled, and went to heaven.
Night Thoughts - Dr. E. Young
 

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old time is still a-flying
And this same flower that smiles today
Tomorrow will be dying.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a-getting,
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.
That age is best which is the first,
When youth and blood are warmer;
But being spent, the worse, and worst
Times still succeed the former.
Then be not coy, but use your time,
And, while ye may, go marry;
For, having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.
To the Virgins, to Make Much of Time - Robert Herrick
 

We think our fathers fools, so wise we grow;
Our wiser sons, no doubt, will think us so.
Essay On Criticism - A. Pope
 

My salad days;
When I was green in judgment.
Antony and Cleopatra - William Shakespeare
 

Say thou, whereon I carved her name,
If ever maid or spouse,
As fair as my Olivia, came
To rest beneath thy boughs.

But tell me, did she read the name
I carved with many vows
When last with throbbing heart I came
To rest beneath thy boughs?

‘O yes, she wander'd round and round
These knotted knees of mine,
And found, and kiss'd the name she found,
And sweetly murmur'd thine.

‘A teardrop trembled from its source,
And down my surface crept.
My sense of touch is something coarse,
But I believe she wept.

‘Then flush'd her cheek with rosy light,
She glanced across the plain;
But not a creature was in sight:
She kiss'd me once again.

‘Her kisses were so close and kind,
That, trust me on my word,
Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind,
But yet my sap was stirr'd:

‘And even into my inmost ring
A pleasure I discern’d,
Like those blind motions of the Spring,
That show the year is turn’d.

‘Thrice-happy he that may caress
The ringlet’s waving balm –
The cushions of whose touch may press
The maiden’s tender palm.
Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1809 – 1892
(The Talking Oak)

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