Poem Lake | The Greatest Poems of All Time

The Passionate Shepherd to His Love Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills and fields, Woods or steepy mountains yields. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose falls Melodious... Poet: Christopher Marlowe	The Nymph's Reply to the Shepherd If all the world and love were young, And truth in every shepherd's tongue, These pretty pleasures might me move To live with thee and be thy love. Time drives the flocks from field to fold, When rivers rage and rocks grow cold, And Philomel becometh dumb; ... Poet: Sir Walter Raleigh	A Shepherd’s Life From “Third Part of Henry VI.,” Act II. Sc. 5. KING HENRY.—O God! methinks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run:... Poet: William Shakespeare	The Shepherd and the King Ah! what is love? It is a pretty thing, As sweet unto a shepherd as a king, And sweeter too; For kings have cares that wait upon a crown, And cares can make the sweetest face to frown: Ah then, ah then, If country loves such sweet... Poet: Robert Greene
The Passionate Shepherd to his Love Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That hills and valleys, dales and fields, Woods or craggy mountains yield. And we will sit upon the rocks, Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks By shallow rivers, to whose... Poet: Christopher Marlowe	The Good Shepherd with the Kid He saves the sheep, the goats he doth not save. So rang Tertullian’s sentence, on the side Of that unpitying Phrygian Sect which cried: “Him can no fount of fresh forgiveness lave, Who sins, once washed by the baptismal wave.”— So spake the fierce... Poet: Matthew Arnold	A poor young shepherd J'ai peur d'un baiser Comme d'une abeille. Je souffre et je veille Sans me reposer : J'ai peur d'un baiser ! Pourtant j'aime Kate Et ses yeux jolis. Elle est délicate, Aux longs traits pâlis. Oh ! que j'aime Kate ! C'est Saint-... Poet: Paul Verlaine