Classic Love Poems

George Gordon, Lord Byron (1788-1824) was an English poet and leading figure of the Romantic Movement in England. He is regarded as one of the greatest European poets, and remains widely read and influential around the world. His fame rests not only on his writings, but also on his life, which featured upper-class living, numerous love affairs, debts, and separation. He was famously described by Lady Caroline Lamb as “mad, bad, and dangerous to know.” He is best-known for his poems, She Walks in Beauty (1814) and When We Two Parted (1817), as well as his narrative pieces, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage and Don Juan.

Online Books

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“Byron’s Dream,”
depicting Lord Byron with
Mary Chaworth
by Ford Maddox Brown

Byron’s first great love was his neighbor Mary Anne Chaworth (1785-1832) whom he met while vacationing at Annesley Hall. When he refused to return home, his mother wrote: “He has no indisposition that I know of but love, desperate love, the worst of all maladies in my opinion. In short, the boy is distractedly in love with Miss Chaworth.” He was 15.
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His Love Affairs

The Love Affairs of Lord Byron
by Francis H.
Gribble

Preface: Whether a book is called The Love Affairs of Lord Byron or The Life of Lord Byron can make very little difference to the contents of its pages. Byron’s love affairs were the principal incidents of his life, and almost the only ones . . . His whole life was deflected from its course, and thrown out of gear: first, by his unhappy passion for Mary Chaworth; secondly, by the way in which women of all ranks, flattering his vanity for the gratification of their own, importuned him with the offer of their hearts . . . He dallied with them for years, without ever engaging his heart very deeply, until at last he realized that this sort of dalliance was a very futile and enervating occupation, tore himself away from his last entanglement, and crossed the sea to strike a blow for freedom…. Read more

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Resource Sites

• Old Poetry
• Poem Hunter
• Poetry Foundation
• Poets
• Wikipedia
• The Works of Lord Byron

Well! Thou Art Happy

Well! thou art happy, and I feel
That I should thus be happy too;
For still my heart regards thy weal
Warmly, as it was wont to do.

Thy husband’s blest—and ’twill impart
Some pangs to view his happier lot:
But let them pass—Oh! how my heart
Would hate him if he loved thee not!

When late I saw thy favourite child,
I thought my jealous heart would break;
But when the unconscious infant smil’d,
I kiss’d it for its mother’s sake.

I kiss’d it,—and repress’d my sighs
Its father in its face to see;
But then it had its mother’s eyes,
And they were all to love and me.

Mary, adieu! I must away:
While thou art blest I’ll not repine;
But near thee I can never stay;
My heart would soon again be thine.

I deem’d that Time, I deem’d that Pride,
Had quench’d at length my boyish flame;
Nor knew, till seated by thy side,
My heart in all,—save hope,—the same.

Yet was I calm: I knew the time
My breast would thrill before thy look;
But now to tremble were a crime—
We met,—and not a nerve was shook.

I saw thee gaze upon my face,
Yet meet with no confusion there:
One only feeling couldst thou trace;
The sullen calmness of despair.

Away! away! my early dream
Remembrance never must awake:
Oh! where is Lethe’s fabled stream?
My foolish heart be still, or break.

She Walks In Beauty

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;
And all that’s best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellow’d to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impair’d the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,
Or softly lightens o’er her face;
Where thoughts serenely sweet express
How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o’er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow,
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

When We Two Parted

When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever the years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder, thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.

The dew of the morning
Sunk, chill on my brow,
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.

They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shudder comes o’er me . . .
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee too well . . .
Long, long shall I rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.

In secret we met
In silence I grieve
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive.
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?
With silence and tears.