#EnglishWriters #Romantic
There is a pleasure in the pathles… There is a rapture on the lonely s… There is society, where none intru… By the deep sea, and music in its… I love not man the less, but Natu…
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has l… Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gif… Untainted back to thine. Thy parting glance, which fondly b…
O! had my Fate been join’d with t… As once this pledge appear’d a tok… These follies had not, then, been… For, then, my peace had not been b… To thee, these early faults I owe…
‘What say I?’—not a syllable furt… I’m your man ‘of all measures,’ de… Here goes, for a swim on the strea… On those buoyant supporters, the b… If our weight breaks them down, an…
I speak not, I trace not, I breat… There is grief in the sound, there… But the tear that now burns on my… The deep thoughts that dwell in th… Too brief for our passion, too lon…
And wilt thou weep when I am low? Sweet lady! speak those words agai… Yet if they grieve thee, say not s… I would not give that bosom pain. My heart is sad, my hopes are gone…
In moments to delight devoted, ‘My life!’ with tenderest tone you… Dear words! on which my heart had… If youth could neither fade nor di… To death even hours like these mus…
Oh, talk not to me of a name great… The days of our youth are the days… And the myrtle and ivy of sweet tw… Are worth all your laurels, though… What are garlands and crowns to th…
The harp the monarch minstrel swep… The King of men, the loved of Hea… Which Music hallow’d while she we… O’er tones her heart of hearts had… Redoubled be her tears, its chords…
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp A friend whom death alone could se… Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach’d thee from my breast for e… True, she has forced thee from my…
Hills of Annesley, bleak and barr… Where my thoughtless childhood str… How the northern tempests, warring… Howl above thy tufted shade! Now no more, the hours beguiling,
We do not curse thee, Waterloo! Though Freedom’s blood thy plain… There 'twas shed, but is not sunk Rising from each gory trunk, Like the water-spout from ocean,
My soul is dark - Oh! quickly str… The harp I yet can brook to hear; And let thy gentle fingers fling Its melting murmurs o’er mine ear. If in this heart a hope be dear,
Through life’s dull road, so dim a… I have dragg’d to three-and-thirty… What have these years left to me? Nothing—except thirty-three.
Beneath Blessington’s eyes The reclaimed Paradise Should be free as the former from… But if the new Eve For an Apple should grieve,
