24 Love Poems to dedicate to your partner

Do you need love poems to impress your partner with? Romantic poems have been, for centuries, the main leitmotif of many writers, poets, and artists.

A love poem should have the ability to tell in a unique way those feelings, emotions and images that come to mind when we talk about how special a person feels.

24 great love poems

If emotions are running high and you need to get the message across to a person you love, we propose fifteen great love poems from different times and authors. With them you will be able to explore your romantic side and share these good feelings with whomever you wish.

Without further ado, let’s get to know the romantic verses. At the end of each one of them you have a brief explanation of its context and meaning.

Welcome, by Mario Benedetti

It occurs to me that you will arrive differently

not exactly prettier

no stronger

no more docile

no more cautious

just that you’re going to come in different

as if this season of not seeing me

would have surprised you too

maybe because you know

how I think and list you

after all nostalgia exists

even if we don’t cry on the ghostly platforms

nor on the pillows of candor

nor under the opaque sky

yo nostalgio

your nostalgia

and how it bums me out that he’s nostalgic

your face is the vanguard

maybe it comes first

because I paint it on the walls

with invisible and secure lines

don’t forget that your face

looks at me as a people

smile and anger and sing

as a people

and that gives you a fire

unextinguishable

now I have no doubt

you’ll arrive differently and with signs

with new

with depth

frankly

I know I’ll love you no questions asked

I know you’re gonna love me without answers.

• Analysis of the poem : these are ideal verses to dedicate during a reunion with the person you love, when you realise the great emotional connection that exists and that not even the distance has been able to diminish.

Eternal Love, by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

The sun may be cloudy forever;

The sea can dry up in an instant;

The earth’s axis may be broken

Like a weak crystal.

it will all happen! May death

Cover me with his funeral crepe;

But never in me can it be turned off

The flame of your love.

• Analysis of the poem : an ode to unconditional love, devoid of any circumstances. An expression of romantic love at its highest level.

My Slave, by Pablo Neruda

My slave, fear me. Love me. My slave!

I am with you the widest sunset in my sky,

and in it my soul shines like a cold star.

When they walk away from you, my steps return to me.

My own whiplash falls on my life.

You’re what’s inside me and it’s far away.

Running away like a chorus of chased mists.

Next to me, but where? Far away, what’s far away.

And what lies far beneath my feet walks.

The echo of the voice beyond the silence.

And what in my soul grows like moss on the ruins.

• Analysis of the poem : the Chilean poet, in a display of eroticism and sensitivity, exposes us to a love in which affection and fear go hand in hand.

If you love me, love me whole. by Dulce María Loynaz

If you love me, love me whole,

not by areas of light or shadow…

If you love me, love me black

y

With You, by Luis Cernuda

My land?
My land is you.

My people?
My people are you.

Exile and death
for me they’re where
not you.

What about my life?
Tell me, my life,
what is it, if not you?

• Analysis of the poem : this Spanish poet spoke thus about his world, based on the love for that special person.

Farewell, by Jorge Luis Borges

Between me and my love they must rise

three hundred nights as three hundred walls

and the sea will be a magic between us.

There will be nothing but memories.

Oh worthwhile afternoons,

nights of hope to look at you,

fields of my path, firmament

that I’m watching and losing…

Definitive as a marble

will sadden your absence for other evenings.

• Analysis of the poem : saying goodbye is never easy, and even less so if you have to say goodbye to a person you have loved with passion. However, this poem by Jorge Luis Borges is absolutely beautiful.

Agua Mujer, by Juan Ramón Jiménez

What did you copy in you,

that when I’m missing

the image of the summit,

I run to look at me in you?

• Analysis of the poem : brief but colossal poem by Juan Ramón Jiménez. Sometimes love is based on looking in the mirror. We see ourselves reflected in the eyes of the loved one.

Give me your hand, by Gabriela Mistral

Give me your hand and we’ll dance;

give me your hand and you’ll love me.

As one flower we shall be,

like a flower, and nothing else…

The same verse we will sing,

at the same pace you will dance.

Like a spike we will undulate,

like a spike, and nothing else.

Your name is Rosa and I am Esperanza;

but your name you will forget,

because we will be a dance.

• Analysis of the poem : verses of the Chilean poet. An ode to optimism and the most innocent love.

Soneto V, by Garcilaso de la Vega

It is written in my soul your gesture…

It is written in my soul your gesture

and how much I write of you I desire;

you wrote it yourself, I read it

I’m just, I’m still keeping it from you.

This I am and will always be;

that although it does not fit in me as much as in you I see,

of so much good that I don’t understand I think,

already taking faith for granted.

I was not born but to love you;

my soul has cut you down to its measure;

by the habit of the soul itself I love you;

as much as I have confessed to you;

for you I was born, for you I have life,

for you I must die and for you I die.

• Analysis of the poem : one of those lifelong love poems, which tells us about a raw, mystical infatuation, outside any circumstance or condition.

Powder of Love, by Francisco de Quevedo

Last love beyond death.

Closing my eyes will make me close my last one

Shadow I’ll take the white day,

And he can unleash this soul of mine

Hour, to his eager flatterer;

But not that part on the bank

It will leave the memory, where it burned:

Swimming knows my flame cold water,

And lose respect for harsh law.

Soul, to whom a whole God has been imprisoned,

Veins, what humor to so much fire have given,

Marrows, which have gloriously burned,

Your body will leave, not your care;

They will be ashes

Woman, I would have been your son, for drinking you

milk from the breasts like from a spring,

for looking and feeling you next to me and having you

in the golden laugh and the crystal voice.

For feeling you in my veins like God in the rivers

and worship you in the sad bones of dust and lime,

because your being will pass without pity beside me

and it was in the stanza – clean of all evil.

How would I know how to love you, woman, how would I know

to love you, to love you like nobody ever knew!

To die and still

to love you more.

And yet

love you more

and more.

• Analysis of the poem : a romantic recognition of the figure of woman, by one of the most emblematic poets of Latin America.

I love you by the eyebrow, by Julio Cortázar

I love you by the eyebrow, by the hair, I debate you in corridors

very white where the fountains are played

of light,

I argue with you on every name, I gently tear you away

scarred,

I’m putting lightning ashes in your hair and

tapes that slept in the rain.

I don’t want you to have a way, to be

precisely what comes behind your hand,

because water, consider water, and lions

when dissolved in the sugar of the fable,

and the gestures, that architecture of nothingness,

by lighting their lamps in the middle of the meeting.

Everything tomorrow is the board where I invent you and you

drawing,

soon to erase you, so you are not, nor with that

straight hair, that smile.

I look for your sum, the rim of the glass where the wine

is also the moon and the mirror,

I look for that line that makes a man tremble in

a museum gallery.

Besides, I love you, and it’s cold and weathered.

• Analysis of the poem : faithful to his style, Julio Cortázar spoke thus about a love that made him lose his mind.

Morning sonnet to a weightless schoolgirl, by Gabriel García-Márquez

As he passes by, he greets me, and after the wind

that gives the breath of his early voice

in the square light of a window

it fogs up, not the glass, but the breath

It’s early as a bell.

It fits in the unlikely, like a story

and when you cut the thread of the moment

she pours her white blood in the morning.

If she wears blue and goes to school,

can’t tell if you’re walking or flying

because it’s like a breeze, so light

that in the blue morning is not required

which of the three that pass is the breeze,

which is the girl and which is the morning.

• Analysis of the poem : the author of “One Hundred Years of Solitude” thus described a brief platonic romance with a young schoolgirl.

Cover Me, Love, the Heaven of Mouth, by Rafael Alberti

Cover me, love, heaven from the mouth

with that extreme foamy outburst,

which is jasmine of the one who knows and of the one who burns,

sprouting at the tip of rock coral.

Go crazy, love, your salt, go crazy

Your sharp lancinant supreme flower,

Bending your anger into a headband

of the biting carnation that unlocks it.

Oh girded flow, love, oh beautiful

tempered bubbling of snow

by such a narrow cave in raw flesh,

to watch your fine neck

you slip, love, and it rains

of jasmines and spit stars!

• Analysis of the poem : about female beauty and its honeys. By the great Rafael Alberti.

As If Every Kiss, by Fernando Pessoa

As if every kiss

Out of bye-bye

I love you at ten o’clock in the morning, by Jaime Sabines

I love you at ten in the morning, and at eleven,

and at twelve o’clock in the day. I love you with all my soul and

with my whole body, sometimes, on rainy afternoons.

But at two in the afternoon, or three, when I

I think of the two of us, and you think of the

food or in daily work or entertainment

that you don’t have, I get to deafly hate you, with

half the hate I keep to myself.

Then I love you again, when we go to bed and

I feel that you are made for me, that somehow

your knee and your belly tell me, that my hands

convince me of this, and that there is no other place in

where I come, where I go, better than you

body. You come all the way to me, and

we both disappear for a moment, we get in

in the mouth of God, until I tell you that I have

hunger or sleep.

Every day I love you and hate you irrevocably.

And there are days too, there are hours, when you don’t

I know you, in that you are alien to me like the woman

of another, I care about men, I care

me, I’m distracted by my sorrows. I probably won’t think

in you for a long time. You see who

could love you less than I do, my love?

• Analysis of the poem : one of the love poems that focuses on the small details of living together and the emotional impact that all this has.

The poet asks his love to write to him, by Federico García Lorca

Love of my loins, long live death,

in vain I wait for your written word

and I feed, with the fading flower,

that if I live without me I want to lose you.

The air is immortal. The inert stone

he neither knows the shadow nor avoids it.

Inner heart not needed

the icy honey that the moon pours.

But I suffered you. I tore my veins,

tiger and dove, on your waist

in a duel of bites and lilies.

Fill my madness with words

or let me live in my serenity

night of the soul forever dark.

• Analysis of the poem : this work by Lorca shows the most tragic and melancholic face of love relationships, which often lead us to a whirlwind of emotions.

Love, by Salvador Novo

Love is this shy silence

near you, without you knowing it,

and remember your voice when you leave

and feel the warmth of your greeting.

To love is to wait for you

as if you were part of the sunset,

neither before nor after, so that we are alone

between games and stories

on the dry land.

To love is to perceive, when you are absent,

your perfume in the air I breathe,

and contemplate the star in which you walk away

when I close the door at night.

• Analysis of the poem : these verses highlight the part of love linked to simplicity and humility.

First Love, by Leopoldo María Panero

This smile that comes to me like the west

that is crushed against my flesh that I felt until then

hot or cold only

this burnt music or butterfly weak as air that

I’d like just one pin to prevent it from falling

now

when the clock moves forward without horizon or moon without wind

flag

this sadness or cold

don’t knock on my door let the wind blow your

lips

this body

behind are the shapes that follow one another without leaving a trace

everything that happens and falls apart leaving only a smoke

white

behind are the dreams that today are only ice or stone

fresh water as a kiss from the other side of the horizon.

• Analysis of the poem : a poem full of powerful and evocative symbols and images.

Who shines, by Alejandra Pizarnik

When you look at me

my eyes are keys,

the wall has secrets,

my fear words, poems.

Only you make my memory

a fascinated traveller,

a ceaseless fire.

• Analysis of the poem : this Argentinean poetess talks about the potential of love relationships when it comes to bringing out the best in oneself.

Mercedes Blanco, by Leopoldo María Panero

Finally you came to rock

in your arms the corpse of my soul

with a dead woman’s smile

to tell me that the dead speak

to make love in the ashes.

At last you appeared in the midst of the purest

emptiness-where there were no

no more names or words, not even

my memory in the world, in myself:

you finally arrived as a memory.

If even though it is impossible for you to stop loving me, nevertheless

your blind heart is determined to make you forget me

I will then be the Impossible One, I will be

I who entirely incarnate in wax

the white face of the Impossible. But you have come here

as if you were leaving forever, to tell me

that there is still one Truth left. And you have already won

to the black hole behind the soul

and who is waiting only to see us fall, who is waiting for us.

And I understood that I was. And that I would still be

“among the many men one”

as an Aussie translator told me,

would be

yes, but being that desert

inhabited entirely by you,

that you were also one.

And I offered you the desert as a reward

and the loneliness, to dwell in it

yet never alter its purity;

I offered you, I offer you

my destruction. And I just told you

of me than before

of you the present was a form of the past;

and that waiting was a way of missing time

hearing only, on the horizon of waiting, the echo

of a music in which everything

fell as if it never was, and that he knew

that doing it was easy for him, because everything

has its vocation of not having been: until the thing

simpler I would like

disappear. But you came to inhabit that echo

and give meaning to the voice that speaks alone

because he knows -he knew- that it was that

the way everyone talks, and the only

possible way of speaking. And you kissed

gently in my mouth my drool,

who once stained the blank paper.

You arrived, and I would like to

to have been even less, and to regret it even more

of my life that someone else lived for me.

I’m not the one who’s called me: only you call me.

I am not, nor are you, this shadow I call

to talk about you like I would

the rain that never stopped falling; to offer you your reflection

in the water of an ocean under which someone

they say he’s dead-maybe you’re smiling at me.

And you told me: death speaks, and I answer you:

only the dead talk, among themselves.

I offer you no joy, but only happiness

fecundity of impossibility, as a continuous sting

of the invisible life of our love. I tell you only:

listen to how m

do it: only slowly, inventing

the flower that didn’t exist: if you and I now

we love each other, we will have loved for the first time.

I offer you no joy, but only the struggle

of subjective beauty for being true,

but only pleasure

of a long and certain agony because only-

mind when you die is known

that was bliss. This dead elephant, this search

of the definitely lost, this waiting

who’s just waiting to find his own speech.

I’m waiting for you

at the end of the road: i do not offer you

no joy:

join me at the grave.

• Analysis of the poem : a poem in which one can appreciate the convulsive relationship that this poet had with the woman who gives the work its title, and in which love is expressed from a pessimistic and tragic perspective.

Owner of the black mouth, by José Zorrilla

Owner of the negro plays,

that of the monkish purple,

for a kiss from your mouth

gave Granada Boabdil.

Diera the spear better

of the most bizarre Zenete,

and with its fresh greenness

a whole bank of the Darro.

Give the bullfighting party

and, if they were in your hands,

with the zambra of the moros

the value of Christians.

Diera oriental rugs,

and armour and pebetes,

and give… what you’re worth,

up to forty riders.

Because your eyes are beautiful,

because the light of dawn

goes up to the East from them,

and the world its golden fire.

Your lips are a ruby,

…split in two…

He was torn out for you

of God’s crown.

From your lips, the smile,

the peace of your tongue flows…

light, airy, like breeze

of glitter tomorrow.

Oh, what a beautiful Nazarene

for an oriental harem,

drop the black mane

on the glass neck,

in velvet bed,

among a cloud of aroma,

and wrapped in the white veil

of the daughters of Mohammed!

Come to Cordoba, Christian,

sultana you will be there,

and the sultan will be, oh sultana,

a slave for you.

It will give you so much wealth,

so much Tunisian gala,

who is to judge your beauty

to pay him back, petty.

Owner of the negro plays,

for a kiss from your mouth

gave a Boabdil kingdom;

and I therefore, Christian,

I’ll gladly give you

A thousand heavens, if it were a thousand.

• Analysis of the poem : one of the love poems in which references to the exoticism attributed to eastern cultures are most often used.

Absence, by Jorge Luis Borges

I shall raise the vast life

that even now is your mirror:

every morning I’ll have to rebuild it.

Since you walked away,

how many places have become vacant

and meaningless, equal

to lights in the daytime.

Evenings that were a niche of your image,

music you always waited for me,

words of that time,

I’ll have to break them with my hands.

In what hollow shall I hide my soul

so I don’t see your absence

that like a terrible sun, without a sunset,

shines brightly and mercilessly?

Your absence surrounds me

like the rope to the throat,

the sea to which it sinks.

• Analysis of the poem :

  Isabel…, your garden trembles at the table.

  At night, you would straighten your hair,

  I fell asleep, meditating on them

  and in your body of pink: butterfly

  pink and white, veiled.

  Blow up my rose forever

  -Mademoiselle Elizabeth- and my heaven.

  • Analysis of the poem : a beautiful short love poem in which, in a few verses, much is expressed