#EnglishWriters
WHO WROTE UNDER MY L… Whence should they come, lady! tho… That thy fair hand and gentle hear… Upon my head? Alas! such do not r… On any, of the many, who with sigh…
Whene’er I recollect the happy ti… When you and I held converse dear… There come a thousand thoughts of… Of early blossoms, and the fresh y… Your memory lives for ever in my m…
If thou wert standing by yon tide, And I were standing by thy side, Methinks a death I could contrive… Pleasanter than the life I live. For I would lay me at thy feet,
I know a maiden with a laughing fa… And springing feet like wings;—the… Forth from the radiant dancing of… Is full of mischievous and mirthfu… I know a maiden you might scarce t…
Written among the Ruins of the So… Thou who within thyself dost not b… Ruins as great as these, though no… Canst scarce through life have tra… Or lack’st the spirit of a pilgrim…
WRITTEN AT OATLANDS. I SHALL come no more to the Ced… The fairies’ palace, beside the st… Where the yellow sun-rays at morni… Through their tresses dark, with a…
I stand where thou hast stood, and… Each look, each word, each gesture… That marked thy speech, or lighten… And memory makes them o’er and o’e… I dream I hear thy voice—I start,…
O lady! thou, who in the olden tim… Hadst been the star of many a poet… Thou, who unto a mind of mould sub… Weddest the gentle graces that bes… Fair woman’s best! forgive the dar…
Oh, serious eyes! how is it that t… The burning rays, that mine pour i… Still find ye cold, and dead, and… Oh, lifeless eyes! can ye not answ… Oh, lips! whereon mine own so ofte…
THE FIRST SNOW MOUNT… Look, love, to yonder mountain’s b… Seest thou that beckoning hand of… Stern Winter dares no farther com… But waves me towards his northern…
O Maria Felicia! the Painter and… Behind them in dying leave undying… The night of oblivion their memory… And their great eager souls, other… Against Death, against Time, havi…
Art thou already weary of the way? Thou who hast yet but half the way… Get up, and lift thy burthen: lo,… Thy feet the road goes stretching… If thou already faint, who hast bu…
The golden hinges of the year have… Spring, and the summer, and the ha… Have come, and gone; and on the th… The withered Winter, stretching f… To take my rose from me;—which he…
I hear a voice low in the sunset w… Listen, it says: ‘Decay, decay, d… I hear it in the murmuring of the… And the wind sighs it as it flies… Autumn is come; seest thou not in…
Thou art like the bird that alight… Though the frail spray bends—for h…
