Leslie Jonath,Jessica Strand

Love Found

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For new boos and long-wed couples alike, poetry is the ultimate gift of love. The classic love poems gathered in this elegant volume capture the full spectrum of romance—desire, longing, passion, and partnership. From Emily Dickinson's steamy declaration that «were I with thee / wild nights should be / our luxury!» to Langston Hughes's gorgeous image of love as «a ripe plum / growing on a purple tree," this is an exquisite collection of swoon-worthy love poems for the ages. Curated by authors Jessica Strand and Leslie Jonath, with illustrations by Jennifer Orkin Lewis, Love Found is perfect for Valentine's Day, weddings, anniversaries, or spur-of-the-moment romantic gestures.
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  • Ellaine Manlapazцитирапреди 4 години
    You will love again the stranger who was your self.

    Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart

    to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

    all your life, whom you ignored

    for another, who knows you by heart.

    Take down the love-letters from the bookshelf,

    the photographs, the desperate notes,

    peel your own image from the mirror.

    Sit. Feast on your life.
  • Ellaine Manlapazцитирапреди 4 години
    by Joseph Brodsky

    If you were drowning, I’d come to the rescue,

    wrap you in my blanket and pour hot tea.

    If I were a sheriff, I’d arrest you

    and keep you in the cell under lock and key.

    If you were a bird, I’d cut a record

    and listen all night to your high-pitched trill.

    If I were a sergeant, you’d be my recruit,

    and boy I can assure you you’d love the drill.

    If you were Chinese, I’d learn the languages,

    burn a lot of incense, wear funny clothes.

    If you were a mirror, I’d storm the Ladies’,

    give you my red lipstick and puff your nose.

    If you loved volcanoes, I’d be lava

    relentlessly erupting from my hidden source.

    And if you were my wife, I’d be your lover

    because the church is firmly against divorce.
  • Ellaine Manlapazцитирапреди 4 години
    Do not stand at my grave and weep

    I am not there; I do not sleep.

    I am a thousand winds that blow,

    I am the diamond glints on snow,

    I am the sun on ripened grain,

    I am the gentle autumn rain.

    When you awaken in the morning’s hush

    I am the swift uplifting rush

    Of quiet birds in circled flight.

    I am the soft stars that shine at night.

    Do not stand at my grave and cry,

    I am not there; I did not die.
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