#EnglishWriters
Oh that I were a fairy sprite, to… In forest paths, o’erarched with o… Where the sun’s yellow light, in s… Sleeps on the dewy moss: what time… Of early morn stirs the white hawt…
Though thou return unto the former… Fields, woods, and gardens, where… In other days, and not a bough, br… Of tree, or meadow, but the same a… As when thou lovedst them in forme…
The merriest time of all the year Is the time when the leaves begin… When the chestnut-trees turn yello… And the flowers are withering one… When the thick green sward is grow…
I never shall forget thee’'tis a… Thou oft nust hear, for surely the… On whom thy wondrous eyes have eve… But for a moment, or who e’er have… Thy voice’s deep impassioned melod…
You say you’re glad I write—oh, s… My fount of song, dear friend, ’s… And when the numbers freely from i… ’Tis that my heart, and eyes, o’er… Castalia, fam’d of yore,—the sprin…
I would I knew the lady of thy he… She whom thou lov’st, perchance, a… She unto whom thy thoughts and wis… Those thoughts, in which, alas! I… Oh, I have sat and sighed, thinki…
I saw him on his throne, far in th… Him ye call Winter, picturing him… An aged man, whose frame, with pal… Bends o’er the fiery element, his… But he I saw was a young god, who…
It is the dawn! the rosy day awake… From her bright hair pale showers… And through the heavens her early… Why art thou sleeping! It is the noon! the sun looks laug…
Have you not heard that in some de… The Dead retain in beauty undistu… The very countenance they living w… But if forbidden yearning vainly c… To look upon the hidden face once…
Mother, mother! my heart is wild, Hold me upon your bosom dear, Do not frown on your own poor chil… Death is darkly drawing near. Mother, mother! the bitter shame
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…
By the pure spring, whose haunted… Through thy sequestered dell unto… At sunny noon, I will appear to t… Not troubling the still fount with… As when I last took leave of it,…
Good night! from music’s softest s… Go to thy dreams: and in thy slumb… Fairies, with magic harp and shell… Sing o’er to thee thy own sweet nu… Good night! from hope’s intense de…
Why art thou weeping Over the happy, happy dead, Who are gone away, From this life of clay, From this fount of tears,
Farewell awhile, beautiful Italy! My lonely bark is launched upon th… That clasps thy shore, and the sof… Breathes from thy coast, and fills… Ere morning dawn, a colder breeze…