What is your favourite love poem?

Question

Mine is WB Yeats, He Wishes For The Cloths of Heaven:

Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,

Enwrought with golden and silverlight,

The blue and the dim and the dark cloths

Of night and light and the half-light,

I would spread the cloths under your feet:

But I, being poor, have only my dreams;

I have spread my dreams under your feet;

Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

GAH! YA SPAG checker doesn't like me, or Yeats for that matter.

Answer 1

I love that Yeats poem, but Donne has my heart with "A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning"...every time I read it I am left in awe.

AS virtuous men pass mildly away,

    And whisper to their souls to go,

Whilst some of their sad friends do say,

    "Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."                    

So let us melt, and make no noise,                                       5

    No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;

'Twere profanation of our joys

    To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;

    Men reckon what it did, and meant ;                              10

But trepidation of the spheres,

    Though greater far, is innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love

    Ã¢Â€Â”Whose soul is sense—cannot admit

Of absence, 'cause it doth remove                                     15

    The thing which elemented it.

But we by a love so much refined,

    That ourselves know not what it is,

Inter-assurèd of the mind,

    Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.                           20

Our two souls therefore, which are one,

    Though I must go, endure not yet

A breach, but an expansion,

    Like gold to aery thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so                                          25

    As stiff twin compasses are two ;

Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show

    To move, but doth, if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,

    Yet, when the other far doth roam,                                30

It leans, and hearkens after it,

    And grows erect, as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,

    Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;

Thy firmness makes my circle just,                                    35

    And makes me end where I begun.