#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
When Time, or soon or late, shall… The dreamless sleep that lulls the… Oblivion! may thy languid wing Wave gently o’er my dying bed! No band of friends or heirs be the…
When Newton saw an apple fall, he… In that slight startle from his co… 'Tis said (for I 'll not answer a… For any sage’s creed or calculatio… A mode of proving that the earth t…
In digging up your bones, Tom Pai… Will. Cobbett has done well: You visit him on earth again, He’ll visit you in hell.
Sweet girl! though only once we me… That meeting I shall ne’er forget… And though we ne’er may meet again… Remembrance will thy form retain. I would not say, ‘I love,’ but st…
Since the refinement of this polis… Has swept irnmortal raillery from… Since taste has now expunged licen… Which stamp’d disgrace on all an a… Since now to please with purer sce…
Our life is twofold; Sleep hath i… A boundary between the things misn… Death and existence: Sleep hath i… And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development ha…
When the moon is on the wave, And the glow-worm in the grass, And the meteor on the grave, And the wisp on the morass; When the falling stars are shootin…
Remember thee! remember thee! Till Lethe quench life’s burning… Remorse and shame shall cling to t… And haunt thee like a feverish dre… Remember thee! Aye, doubt it not.
I wish to tune my quivering lyre To deed of fame and notes of fire; To echo, from its rising swell, How heroes fought and nations fell… When Atreus’ sons advanced to war…
'Tis known, at least it should be,… All countries of the Catholic per… Some weeks before Shrove Tuesday… The People take their fill of rec… And buy repentance, ere they grow…
The Son of Love and Lord of War… Him who bade England bow to Norma… And left the name of conqueror mor… To his unconquerable dynasty. Not fann’d alone by Victory’s fle…
Good plays are scarce: So Moore writes farce. The poet’s fame grows brittle— We knew before That Little’s Moore,
Youth, Nature, and relenting Jove… To keep my Lamp in strongly strov… But Romanelli was so stout, He beat all three, and blew it out… Oct. 1810.
When, to their airy hall, my fathe… Shall call my spirit, joyful in th… When, poised upon the gale, my for… Or, dark in mist, descend the moun… Oh! may my shade behold no sculptu…
To Ianthe: Not in those climes where I have… Though Beauty long hath there bee… Not in those visions to the heart… Forms which it sighs but to have o…