24 love poems to dedicate to your partner

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

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

24 great love poems

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

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

Welcome, by Mario Benedetti

It occurs to me that you are going to arrive differently

not exactly cuter

not stronger

nor more docile

no more cautious

just that you are going to arrive differently

as if this season of not seeing me

I would have surprised you too

maybe because you know

how I think about you and I list you

after all nostalgia exists

although we do not cry on the ghostly platforms

nor on the pillows of candor

nor under the opaque sky

I nostalgia

your nostalgia

and how it bursts me that he nostalgies

your face is the vanguard

maybe come first

because I paint it on the walls

with invisible and safe lines

do not forget that your face

look at me as a people

smile and rage and sing

as a people

and that gives you a fire

inextinguishable

now I have no doubts

you will arrive differently and with signs

with new

with depth

frankly

I know that I'm going to love you without questions

I know that you will love me without answers.

• Analysis of the poem: these are ideal verses to dedicate during a reunion with the loved one, realizing the great emotional connection that exists and that even distance has not been able to diminish.

Eternal love, by Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer

The sun may cloud forever;

The sea can dry up in an instant;

The axis of the earth may be broken

Like a weak crystal.

Everything will happen! May death

Cover me with his funereal crepe;

But it can never be turned off in me

The flame of your love.

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

My slave, by Pablo Neruda

My slave, fear me. Love me. Slave of mine!

I am with you the largest sunset in my sky,

and in it my soul stands out like a cold star.

When they move away from you my steps return to me.

My own lash falls on my life.

You are what is inside me and is far away.

Fleeing like a chorus of pursued mists.

Next to me, but where? Far, which it is far.

And what being far under my feet walks.

The echo of the voice beyond the silence.

And what in my soul grows like moss in ruins.

• Analysis of the poem: the Chilean poet, in a display of eroticism and sensitivity, exposes us 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

and white, and gray, green, and blonde,

and brunette ...

Love me day,

love me night ...

And early in the morning at the open window! ...

If you love me, don't cut me off:

Love me all!... Or don't love me

• Analysis of the poem: the Cuban poet makes it clear: either you love me with all your soul, or you don't dare to do it. An ode to passion and romance.

Contigo, by Luis Cernuda

My land? You are my land.

My people? My people are you.

Exile and death. for me they are where. don't be you.

And my life? Tell me, my life, what is it, if it's not you?

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

Farewell, by Jorge Luis Borges

Between me and my love they have to get up

three hundred nights like three hundred walls

and the sea will be a magic between us.

There will be only memories.

Oh worthwhile afternoons

hopeful nights of looking at you,

fields of my path, firmament

that I'm seeing and losing ...

Definitive like a marble

your absence will sadden other afternoons.

• Analysis of the poemSaying goodbye is never easy, especially if you have to say goodbye to a person we have loved with passion. However, this poem by Jorge Luis Borges it is absolutely beautiful.

Agua Mujer, by Juan Ramón Jiménez

What did you copy me in you,

that when it is missing in me

the image of the top,

I run to look at you?

• Analysis of the poem: short but colossal poem by Juan Ramón Jiménez. Sometimes love is based on looking at the mirror. We see ourselves reflected in the eyes of the person we love.

Give me your hand, by Gabriela Mistral

Give me your hand and we will dance;

give me your hand and you will love me.

As a single flower we will be,

like a flower, and nothing else ...

The same verse we will sing,

at the same step you will dance.

Like a spike we will undulate,

like a spike, and nothing more.

Your name is Rosa and I am Esperanza;

but you will forget your name,

because we will be a dance.

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

Sonnet V, by Garcilaso de la Vega

Your gesture is written in my soul ...

Your gesture is written in my soul

and how much I want to write about you;

You wrote it by yourself, I read it

so alone, that even of you I keep myself in this.

I am and will always be in this;

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

I think so much good that I don't understand,

already taking faith for budget.

I was not born except to love you;

my soul has cut you to its size;

out of habit of the soul itself I love you;

how much I have I confess I owe you;

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

for you I have to die and for you I die.

• Analysis of the poem: one of those lifelong love poems that tells us about a stark, mystical infatuation, out of any circumstance or condition.

Powder of love, by Francisco de Quevedo

Last love beyond death.

Close my eyes the last

Shadow that the white day will take me,

And you can unleash this soul of mine

Hora, to his eager flattery eagerness;

But not from here on the shore

She will leave the memory, where it burned:

Swimming knows my flame the cold water,

And lose respect for severe law.

Soul, to whom all a prison God has been,

Veins, what a humor to so much fire they have given,

Medules, which have gloriously burned,

His body will leave, not care for him;

They will be ashes, but it will make sense;

They will be dust, more love dust.

• Analysis of the poem: the Spanish author appeals to a love that does not disappear even when the souls are gone.

Love, by Pablo Neruda

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

the milk of the breasts like a spring,

for looking at you and feeling you by my side and having you

in the golden laugh and the crystal voice.

For feeling in my veins like God in the rivers

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

because your being will pass without pain by my side

and came out in the stanza -clean of all evil-.

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

love you, love you like no one ever knew!

Die and still

love you more.

And yet

love you more

and more.

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

I love you by eyebrow, by Julio Cortázar

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

very white where the sources are played

of the light,

I argue with each name, I tear you delicately

scar,

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 the water, consider the water, and the lions

when they dissolve in the sugar of the fable,

and the gestures, that architecture out of nowhere,

lighting their lamps in the middle of the meeting.

All tomorrow is the blackboard where I invent you and you

He drew,

soon to erase you, that's not how you are, nor with that

straight hair, that smile.

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

it 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 long and cold.

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

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

As he passes he greets me and after the wind

that gives the breath of your early voice

in the square light of a window

fogging up, not the glass, but the breath

It's early as a bell.

It fits in the implausible, like a story

and when it cuts the thread of the moment

she pours her white blood in the morning.

If you wear blue and go to school,

it is not distinguished if it walks or flies

because it's like the breeze, so light

that in the blue morning it is not necessary

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" described a short platonic romance with a young schoolgirl.

Cover me, love, the sky of the mouth, by Rafael Alberti

Cover me, love, the sky of the mouth

with that extreme foam rapture,

which is jasmine that knows and burns,

sprouted on tip of rock coral.

Cheer me on, love, your salt, crazy

Your lancinating sharp supreme flower,

Doubling his fury in the diadem

of the mordant carnation that unleashes her.

Oh tight flow, love, oh beautiful

snow-tempered gurgling

for such a narrow grotto raw,

to see how your fine neck

it slips on you, love, and it rains on you

of jasmine and saliva stars!

• Analysis of the poem: about feminine beauty and her honeys. From the great Rafael Alberti.

As if every kiss, by Fernando Pessoa

As if every kiss

Off farewell,

Chloe mine, let's kiss, loving.

Maybe it will touch us

On the shoulder the hand that calls

To the boat that comes only empty;

And that in the same beam

Tie what we were mutually

And the alien universal sum of life.

• Analysis of the poem: the Portuguese writer described in this way a unique, special, memorable love.

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

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

and at twelve o'clock. I love you with all my soul and

with my whole body, sometimes, on rainy afternoons.

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

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

food or daily work, or amusements

that you don't have, I start to hate you deafly, with

half the hate that I keep for 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 it, and that there is no other place in

where I come, where I go, better than you

Body. You come whole to meet me, and

we both disappear for a moment, we get into

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

hungry or sleepy.

Every day I love you and I hate you irretrievably.

And there are days too, there are hours, when not

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

of another, I worry about men, I worry

I am distracted by my sorrows. You probably don't think

in you for a long time. You see who

could I love you less than I do, my love?

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

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

Love of my guts, long live death,

in vain I wait for your written word

and I think, with the flower that withers,

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

The air is immortal. The inert stone

neither knows the shadow nor avoids it.

Inner heart don't need

the frozen 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.

So fill my madness with words

or let me live in my serene

night of the soul forever dark.

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

Love, by Salvador Novo

Loving is this shy silence

close to you, without your 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 that 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 reaches me like the sunset

that is crushed against my flesh that until then I felt

only hot or cold

this burnt music or weak butterfly like the air that

I would just like a pin to prevent it from falling

now

when the clock advances without horizon or moon without wind without

flag

this sadness or cold

do not knock on my door let the wind take your

lips

this corpse that still keeps the warmth of our

Kisses

let me see the world in a tear

Come slowly to my fallen tooth moon

Let me enter the underwater cave

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

everything that happens and falls apart leaving only a smoke

White

Gone are the dreams that today are only ice or stone

sweet water like 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 traveler,

an incessant fire.

• Analysis of the poem: This Argentine poet talks about the potential of love relationships when it comes to getting the best of oneself.

Mercedes Blanco, by Leopoldo María Panero

At last you came to rock

in your arms the corpse of my soul

with the smile of a dead woman

to tell me that the dead woman speaks

To make love in the ash

At last you appeared in the middle of the purest

empty-where they were not

no names or words anymore, not even

my memory in the world, in myself:

at last you came as a memory.

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

your blind heart insists that you forget me

Then I will be the Impossible, I will be

I who entirely incarnate in wax

the white face of the Impossible. But you came here

as if you were leaving forever, to tell me

that there is still a Truth. And you have already won

to the black hole behind the soul

and that he only hopes to see us fall, that he awaits us.

And I understood that I was. And what if it would still be

"among the many men only one"

as a translator of Ausias told me,

how serious

yes, but being that desert

inhabited entirely by you,

that you were also one.

And I offered you the desert as a prize

and loneliness, for you to inhabit it

without ever altering 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 my time

hearing only, on the horizon of waiting, the echo

of a music in which everything

she was silent as if she had never been, and that she knew

that doing it was easy, because everything

has its vocation of not having been: even the thing

simpler I would like

disappear. But you came to inhabit that echo

and make sense of the voice that speaks alone

because you know - you knew - what that was

the way they all talk, and the only one

possible way of speaking. And you kissed

gently in the mouth my drool,

that he once stained blank paper.

You arrived, and I would like

have been even less, and regret even more

of my life that another lived for me.

I am not who my name is: only you name me.

I am not, nor is it you, this shadow that 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 speak, among themselves.

I offer you no joy but only bliss

fecund of impossibility, like a continuous sting

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

listen how that insect dies- and I taught you

in my hand a dead fly, and I said

here is our wealth. And I added: learn

to never shout that we love each other. Enough

whisper it, suffice

your lips not to say it:

because love has not yet been forged

And if nobody loves like you and I could

do it: just slowly, inventing

the flower that did not exist: if you and me now

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

I do not offer you any joy, but only the fight

of subjective beauty for being true,

but only pleasure

of a long and sure agony because only-

mind when you die you know

that was bliss. This dead elephant, this search

of what is definitely lost, this waiting

that she only hopes to find his own speech.

I wait for you

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

no joy:

join me in the grave.

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

Owner of the black mouth, by José Zorrilla

Owner of the black touches,

that of the purple monjil,

for a kiss from your mouth

gave Granada Boabdil.

Give the spear better

of the most bizarre Zenete,

and with its fresh greenery

an entire shore of the Darro.

Give the bullfight

and, if they were in his hands,

with the zambra of the Moors

the courage of Christians.

Give oriental rugs,

and armor and pebees,

and give... How much are you worth!

up to forty riders.

Because your eyes are beautiful

because the light of dawn

go up to the East from them,

and the world its golden light.

Your lips are a ruby

party by gala in two ...

They ripped him out for you

of God's crown.

From your lips, the smile,

the peace of your tongue flows ...

light, airy, like a breeze

of glitter tomorrow.

Oh what a beautiful Nazarene

for an oriental harem,

let go of the black mane

on the crystal neck,

on a velvet bed,

between a cloud of aroma,

and wrapped in the white veil

of the daughters of Muhammad!

Come to Córdoba, Christian,

sultana you will be there,

and the sultan will be, oh sultana!

a slave to you.

She will give you so much wealth

so much Tunisian gala,

who has to judge your beauty

to pay you, petty.

Owner of the black touches,

for a kiss from your mouth

give a kingdom Boabdil;

and I for it, Christian,

I would gladly give you

a thousand heavens, if they were a thousand.

• Analysis of the poem: one of the love poems in which the references to the exoticism attributed to the cultures of the East are used more.

Absence, by Jorge Luis Borges

I will raise the vast life

that even now is your mirror:

every morning I will have to rebuild it.

Since you walked away

how many places have become vain

and meaningless, equal

to lights in the day.

Afternoons that were niche of your image,

music in which you always waited for me,

words of that time,

I will have to break them with my hands.

In what hollow will I hide my soul

so I don't see your absence

that like a terrible sun, without setting,

shines definitive and ruthless?

Your absence surrounds me

like the rope to the throat,

the sea to which it sinks.

• Analysis of the poem: another of Borges' love poems in which this issue is approached from melancholy and sadness at the end of the relationship.

Mademoiselle Isabel, by Blas de Otero

Mademoiselle Isabel, blonde and French,

with a blackbird under the skin,

I don't know if that one or this one, oh mademoiselle

Isabel, sing in him or if he in that.

Princess of my childhood; your princess

promise, with two carnation breasts;

I, I free you, you crayon, you... you..., oh Isabel,

Isabel..., your garden trembles on the table.

At night, you straightened your hair,

I fell asleep, meditating on them

and on your pink body: butterfly

pink and white, veiled with a veil.

Flown forever from my rose

-mademoiselle Isabel- and from my heaven.

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