Sometimes you simply need to laugh with your significant other, and putting funny love poems on a card is a novel way to do it.
Funny Love Poems
Because you know your love better than anyone else, you will be able to recall moments that only the two of you have had.
Being amusing enhances the enjoyment of a relationship. Most of us enjoy it when our partners break into funny love poems or jokes on the spur of the moment and have a clever, lively attitude toward life.
You may show off your comedic side by sharing these funny love poems with your loved ones to share joy and pleasure.
1. The Compliment by Eugene Field
Arrayed in snow-white pants and vest,
And other rainment fair to view,
I stood before my sweetheart Sue—
The charming creature I love best.
“Tell me and does my costume suit?”
I asked that apple of my eye—
And then the charmer made reply,
“Oh, yes, you do look awful cute!”
Although I frequently had heard
My sweetheart vent her pleasure so,
I must confess I did not know
The meaning of that favorite word.
But presently at window side
We stood and watched the passing throng,
And soon a donkey passed along
With ears like wings extended wide.
And gazing at the doleful brute
My sweetheart gave a merry cry—
I quote her language with a sigh—
“O Charlie, ain’t he awful cute?”
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2. Sorrows of Werther by William Makepeace Thackeray
Werther had a love for Charlotte
Such as words could never utter;
Would you know how first he met her?
She was cutting bread and butter.
Charlotte was a married lady,
And a moral man was Werther,
And for all the wealth of Indies
Would do nothing for to hurt her.
So he sighed and pined and ogled,
And his passion boiled and bubbled,
Till he blew his silly brains out,
And no more was by it troubled.
Charlotte, having seen his body
Borne before her on a shutter,
Like a well-conducted person,
Went on cutting bread and butter.
3. Cupid by Ben Jonson
Beauties, have ye seen this toy,
Calléd love, a little boy
Almost naked, wanton, blind,
Cruel now, and then as kind?
If he be amongst ye, say!
He is Venus’ runaway.
He hath of marks about him plenty;
Ye shall know him among twenty;
All his body is a fire,
And his breath a flame entire,
That, being shot like lightning in,
Wounds the heart, but not the skin.
He doth bear a golden bow,
And a quiver, hanging low,
Full of arrows, that outbrave
Dian’s shafts, where, if he have
Any head more sharp than other,
With that first he strikes his mother.
Trust him not: his words, though sweet,
Seldom with his heart do meet;
All his practice is deceit,
Every gift is but a bait;
Not a kiss, but poison bears,
And most treason in his tears.
If by these ye please to know him,
Beauties, be not nice, but show him.
Though ye had a will to hide him,
Now, we hope, ye’ll not abide him,
Since ye hear his falser play,
And that he’s Venus’ runaway.
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4. The Sea by Eva L. Ogden
She was rich and of high degree;
A poor and unknown artist he.
“Paint me,” she said, “a view of the sea.”
So he painted the sea as it looked the day
That Aphroditè arose from its spray;
And it broke, as she gazed on its face the while,
Into its countless-dimpled smile.
“What a poky, stupid picture!” said she:
“I don’t believe he can paint the sea!”
Then he painted a raging, tossing sea,
Storming, with fierce and sudden shock,
A towering, mighty fastness-rock;—
In its sides, above those leaping crests,
The thronging sea-birds built their nests.
“What a disagreeable daub!” said she:
“Why, it isn’t anything like the sea!”
Then he painted a stretch of hot brown sand,
With a big hotel on either hand,
And a handsome pavilion for the band;—
Not a sign of water to be seen,
Except one faint little streak of green.
“What a perfectly exquisite picture!” said she:
“It ’s the very image of the sea!”
5. A Life’s Love
I loved him in my dawning years—
Far years, divinely dim;
My blithest smiles, my saddest tears,
Were evermore for him.
My dreaming when the day began,
The latest thought I had,
Was still some little loving plan
To make my darling glad.
They deemed he lacked the conquering wiles,
That other children wear;
To me his face, in frowns or smiles,
Was never aught but fair.
They said that self was all his goal,
He knew no thought beyond;
To me, I know, no living soul
Was half so true and fond.
In love’s eclipse, in friendship’s dearth,
In grief and feud and bale,
My heart has learnt the sacred worth
Of one that cannot fail;
And come what must, and come what may,
Nor power, nor praise, nor pelf,
Shall lure my faith from thee to stray.
My sweet, my own—Myself.
6. How Paddy Got “Under Government”
A place under Government
Was all that Paddy wanted.
He married soon a scolding wife,
And thus his wish was granted.
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7. Women’s Chorus by Aristophanes
They’re always abusing the women,
As a terrible plague to men:
They say we ’re the root of all evil,
And repeat it again and again;
Of war, and quarrels, and bloodshed,
All mischief, be what it may!
And pray, then, why do you marry us,
If we ’re all the plagues you say?
And why do you take such care of us,
And keep us so safe at home,
And are never easy a moment
If ever we chance to roam?
When you ought to be thanking heaven
That your Plague is out of the way,
You all keep fussing and fretting—
“Where is my Plague to-day?”
If a Plague peeps out of the window,
Up go the eyes of men;
If she hides, then they all keep staring
Until she looks out again.
8. Echo and the Lover
Lover. Echo! mysterious nymph, declare
Of what you ’re made, and what you are.
Lover. Mid airy cliffs and places high,
Sweet Echo! listening love, you lie.
Echo. You lie!
Lover. Thou dost resuscitate dead sounds,—
Hark! how my voice revives, resounds!
Lover. I ’ll question thee before I go,—
Come, answer me more apropos!
Echo. Poh! poh!
Lover. Tell me, fair nymph, if e’er you saw
So sweet a girl as Phœbe Shaw.
Lover. Say, what will turn that frisking coney
Into the toils of matrimony?
Lover. Has Phœbe not a heavenly brow?
Is not her bosom white as snow?
Echo. Ass! No!
Lover. Her eyes! was ever such a pair?
Are the stars brighter than they are?
Echo. They are!
Lover. Echo, thou liest, but can’t deceive me.
Echo. Leave me!
Lover. But come, thou saucy, pert romancer,
Who is as fair as Phœbe? Answer!
Echo. Ann, sir.
9. Echo by John Godfrey Saxe
I asked of Echo, t’ other day,
(Whose words are few and often funny,)
What to a novice she could say
Of courtship, love, and matrimony.
Quoth Echo, plainly,—“Matter-o’-money!”
Whom should I marry?—should it be
A dashing damsel, gay and pert,
A pattern of inconstancy;
Or selfish, mercenary flirt?
Quoth Echo, sharply,—“Nary flirt!”
What if, aweary of the strife
That long has lured the dear deceiver,
She promise to amend her life,
And sin no more; can I believe her?
Quoth Echo, very promptly,—“Leave her!”
But if some maiden with a heart
On me should venture to bestow it,
Pray, should I act the wiser part
To take the treasure or forego it?
Quoth Echo, with decision,—“Go it!”
But what if, seemingly afraid
To bind her fate in Hymen’s fetter,
She vow she means to die a maid,
In answer to my loving letter?
Quoth Echo, rather coolly,—“Let her!”
What if, in spite of her disdain,
I find my heart intwined about
With Cupid’s dear delicious chain
So closely that I can’t get out?
Quoth Echo, laughingly,—“Get out!”
But if some maid with beauty blest,
As pure and fair as Heaven can make her,
Will share my labor and my rest
Till envious Death shall overtake her?
Quoth Echo (sotto voce),—“Take her!”
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