Famous Sad Love Poems DefinitionSource(Google.com.pk)
There is probably none, who did not taste sadness in love. Well, like the joyride of love that takes us from the real world to a world of magic, it brings a few pangs with it as well.
Like happiness, pain too is an integral part of love. And it goes without saying that the feelings of pathos are stronger than the wonderland of affection.
It is also can't be denied that pain in love is lessened if we share our feelings. So given below are some sad love poems, which you can truly identify with if you are going through a similar phase.
The man in your life enchants you? You want to return the favor by alluring him with your words? Love Poems for Him will help you express yourself artistically.
Or have you two drifted apart, or living a long-distance relationship, and you miss your man so much that your heart weeps? Sad love poems for him will help your emotions to touch his heart.
Time does not bring relief
Time does not bring relief; you all have lied
Who told me time would ease me of my pain!
I miss him in the weeping of the rain;
I want him at the shrinking of the tide;
The old snows melt from every mountain-side,
And last year's leaves are smoke in every lane;
But last year's bitter loving must remain
Heaped on my heart, and my old thoughts abide.
There are a hundred places where I fear
To go - so with his memory they brim.
And entering with relief some quiet place
Where never fell his foot or shone his face
I say, 'There is no memory of him here!'
And so stand stricken, so remembering him.
Edna St Vincent Millay (1892 -1950)
Out through the fields and the woods
And over the walls I have wended;
I have climbed the hills of view
And looked at the world and descended;
I have come by the highway home,
And lo, it is ended.
The leaves are all dead on the ground,
Save those that the oak is keeping
To ravel them one by one
And let them go scraping and creeping
Out over the crusted snow,
When others are sleeping.
And the dead leaves lie huddled and still,
No longer blown hither and thither;
The last lone aster is gone;
The flowers of the witch-hazel wither;
The heart is still aching to seek,
But the feet question 'Whither?'
Ah, when to the heart of man
Was it ever less than a treason
To go with the drift of things,
To yield with a grace to reason,
And bow and accept the end
Of a love or a season?