#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Thou art not false, but thou art f… To those thyself so fondly sought; The tears that thou hast forced to… Are doubly bitter from that though… 'Tis this which breaks the heart t…
The morning watch was come; the ve… Her course, and gently made her li… The cloven billow flashed from off… In furrows formed by that majestic… The waters with their world were a…
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…
Absent or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belon… As all can tell, who share, like m… In turn thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall co…
In the valley of the waters we wep… When the host of the stranger made… And our heads on our bosoms all dr… And our hearts were so full of the… The song they demanded in vain—it…
You have ask’d for a verse:—the re… In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny… But my Hippocrene was but my brea… And my feelings (its fountain) are… Were I now as I was, I had sung
Start not’nor deem my spirit fle… In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull. I lived, I loved, I quaffed like…
O ye! who teach the ingenuous yout… Holland, France, England, German… I pray ye flog them upon all occas… It mends their morals, never mind… The best of mothers and of educati…
Thy verse is 'sad’ enough, no doub… A devilish deal more sad than witt… Why we should weep I can’t find o… Unless for thee we weep in pity. Yet there is one I pity more;
When amatory poets sing their love… In liquid lines mellifluously blan… And pair their rhymes as Venus yo… They little think what mischief is… The greater their success the wors…
We sate down and wept by the water… Of Babel, and thought of the day When our foe, in the hue of his sl… Made Salem’s high places his prey… And ye, oh her desolate daughters!
Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country’s strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaughter of his sword! The deeds he did, the fields he wo…
Great Jove, to whose almighty thr… Both gods and mortals homage pay, Ne’er may my soul thy power disown… Thy dread behests ne’er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall
Thou Power! who hast ruled me thr… Young offspring of Fancy, 'tis ti… Then rise on the gale this the las… The coldest effusion which springs… This bosom, responsive to rapture…
If from great nature’s or our own… Of thought we could but snatch a c… Perhaps mankind might find the pat… But then 'twould spoil much good p… One system eats another up, and th…
