#EnglishWriters #Romantic
'O’er the glad waters of the dark… Our thoughts as boundless, and our… Far as the breeze can bear, the bi… Survey our empire, and behold our… These are our realms, no limits to…
Francisca walks in the shadow of n… But it is not to gaze on the heave… But if she sits in her garden bowe… 'Tis not for the sake of its blowi… She listens– but not for the night…
The ‘Origin of Love!’—Ah why That cruel question ask of me, When thou may’st read in many an e… He starts to life on seeing thee? And should’st thou seek his end to…
Time! on whose arbitrary wing The varying hours must flag or fly… Whose tardy winter, fleeting sprin… But drag or drive us on to die—— Hail thou! who on my birth bestowe…
Here’s a happy new year! but with… I beg you’ll permit me to say Wish me many returns of the season… But as few as you please of the dy… January 2, 1820.
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…
Is thy face like thy mother’s, my… Ada! sole daughter of my house and… When last I saw thy young blue ey… And then we parted,—not as now we… But with a hope.—
The Serfs are glad through Lara’s… And slavery half forgets her feuda… He, their unhoped, but unforgotten… The long self-exiled chieftain is… There be bright faces in the busy…
CLXXVIII. There is a pleasure in the pathles… There is a rapture on the lonely s… There is society where none intrud… By the deep Sea, and music in its…
WARRIORS and chiefs! should th… Pierce me in leading the host of t… Heed not the corse, though a king’… Bury your steel in the bosoms of… Thou who art bearing my buckler an…
Dear object of defeated care! Though now of Love and thee beref… To reconcile me with despair, Thing image and any tears are left… 'Tis said with Sorrow Time can co…
Doubtless, sweet girl! the hissing… Wafting destruction o’er thy charm… And hurtling o’er thy lovely head, Has fill’d that breast with fond a… Surely some envious demon’s force,
Marion! why that pensive brow? What disgust to life hast thou? Change that discontented air; Frowns become not one so fair. 'Tis not love disturbs thy rest,
Without a stone to mark the spot, And say, what Truth might well ha… By all, save one, perchance forgot… Ah! wherefore art thou lowly laid? By many a shore and many a sea
Oh! could Le Sage’s demon’s gift Be realized at my desire, This night my trembling form he’d… To place it on St. Mary’s spire. Then would, unroof’d, old Granta’…
