Marriage Poems | Love Poems for Your Wedding Ceremony


    Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
    How little that which thou deny’st me is;
    It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
    And in this flea, our two bloods mingled be;
    Thou knowest that this cannot be said
    A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead.
    Yet this enjoys before it woo,
    And pampered, swells with one blood made of two,
    And this, alas, is more than we would do.
    Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
    Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
    This flea is you and I, and this
    Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;
    Though parents grudge, and you, we are met
    And cloistered in these living walls of jet.
    Though use make you apt to kill me,
    Let not to that self murder added be,
    And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
    Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
    Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
    Wherein could this flea guilty be
    Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?
    Yet thou triumph’st, and sayest that thou
    Find’st not thyself, nor me, the weaker now.
    ‘Tis true, then learn how false fears be;
    Just so much honor, when thou yieldst to me,
    Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.

    A Marriage Of Two Poem by Sylvia Chidi

    A marriage of two
    is for love that is true

    A marriage of two
    is always something new

    A marriage of two
    happens sometimes out of the blue

    A marriage of two
    is worth it when its due

    A marriage of two
    is a marriage of trust
    Many can find themselves lost
    It can be an expensive cost

    They are only very few
    who have a clue
    of when love accrues

    A marriage of two
    is about love making
    It is not about
    money raking

    A marriage of two
    can be bad
    A marriage of two
    can be sad
    You should only be glad if
    A marriage of two
    is for love that is true

    Copyright 2005 – Sylvia Chidi

    Marriage Poem by Kahlil Gibran

    Then Almitra spoke again and said, ‘And what of Marriage, master? ‘

    And he answered saying:

    You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore.

    You shall be together when white wings of death scatter your days.

    Aye, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God.

    But let there be spaces in your togetherness,

    And let the winds of the heavens dance between you.

    Love one another but make not a bond of love:

    Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls.

    Fill each other’s cup but drink not from one cup.

    Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf.

    Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone,

    Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music.

    Give your hearts, but not into each other’s keeping.

    For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts.

    And stand together, yet not too near together:

    For the pillars of the temple stand apart,

    And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow.

    The Wedding Poem by Sidney Lanier

    O marriage-bells, your clamor tells
    Two weddings in one breath.
    SHE marries whom her love compels:
    – And I wed Goodman Death!
    My brain is blank, my tears are red;
    Listen, O God: – ‘I will,’ he said: –
    And I would that I were dead.
    Come groomsman Grief and bridesmaid Pain
    Come and stand with a ghastly twain.
    My Bridegroom Death is come o’er the meres
    To wed a bride with bloody tears.
    Ring, ring, O bells, full merrily:
    Life-bells to her, death-bells to me:
    O Death, I am true wife to thee!

    Call It A Good Marriage Poem by Robert Graves

    Call it a good marriage –
    For no one ever questioned
    Her warmth, his masculinity,
    Their interlocking views;
    Except one stray graphologist
    Who frowned in speculation
    At her h’s and her s’s,
    His p’s and w’s.

    Though few would still subscribe
    To the monogamic axiom
    That strife below the hip-bones
    Need not estrange the heart,
    Call it a good marriage:
    More drew those two together,
    Despite a lack of children,
    Than pulled them apart.

    Call it a good marriage:
    They never fought in public,
    They acted circumspectly
    And faced the world with pride;
    Thus the hazards of their love-bed
    Were none of our damned business –
    Till as jurymen we sat on
    Two deaths by suicide.

    Indian Weavers Poem by Sarojini Naidu

    WEAVERS, weaving at break of day,
    Why do you weave a garment so gay? . . .
    Blue as the wing of a halcyon wild,
    We weave the robes of a new-born child.

    Weavers, weaving at fall of night,
    Why do you weave a garment so bright? . . .
    Like the plumes of a peacock, purple and green,
    We weave the marriage-veils of a queen.

    Weavers, weaving solemn and still,
    What do you weave in the moonlight chill? . . .
    White as a feather and white as a cloud,
    We weave a dead man’s funeral shroud.

    Habitation Poem by Margaret Atwood

    Marriage is not
    a house or even a tent

    it is before that, and colder:

    the edge of the forest, the edge
    of the desert
    the unpainted stairs
    at the back where we squat
    outside, eating popcorn

    the edge of the receding glacier

    where painfully and with wonder
    at having survived even
    this far

    we are learning to make fire

    London Poem by William Blake

    I wandered through each chartered street,
    Near where the chartered Thames does flow,
    A mark in every face I meet,
    Marks of weakness, marks of woe.

    In every cry of every man,
    In every infant’s cry of fear,
    In every voice, in every ban,
    The mind-forged manacles I hear:

    How the chimney-sweeper’s cry
    Every blackening church appals,
    And the hapless soldier’s sigh
    Runs in blood down palace-walls.

    But most, through midnight streets I hear
    How the youthful harlot’s curse
    Blasts the new-born infant’s tear,
    And blights with plagues the marriage-hearse.

    Sonnet 116: Let Me Not To The Marriage Of True Minds Poem by William Shakespeare

    Let me not to the marriage of true minds
    Admit impediments. Love is not love
    Which alters when it alteration finds,
    Or bends with the remover to remove.
    O no, it is an ever-fixèd mark
    That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
    It is the star to every wand’ring bark,
    Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.
    Love’s not Time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
    Within his bending sickle’s compass come;
    Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
    But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
    If this be error and upon me proved,
    I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

    A Word To Husbands Poem by Ogden Nash

    To keep your marriage brimming
    With love in the loving cup,
    Whenever you’re wrong, admit it;
    Whenever you’re right, shut up.