#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Hence Burgundy, Claret, and Port… Away with old Hock and madeira, Too earthly ye are for my sport; There’s a beverage brighter and cl… Instead of a piriful rummer,
IN drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne’er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them
BEFORE he went to feed with owl… Nebuchadnezzar had an ugly dream, Worse than an Hus’if’s when she t… Made a Naumachia for mice and rat… So scared, he sent for that 'Good…
Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hu… All the house is asleep, but we kn… That the jealous, the jealous old… Tho’ you’ve padded his night-cap—… Tho’ your feet are more light than…
After dark vapors have oppress’d o… For a long dreary season, comes a… Born of the gentle south, and clea… From the sick heavens all unseemly… The anxious mouth, relieved from i…
My spirit is too weak—mortality Weighs heavily on me like unwillin… And each imagined pinnacle and ste… Of godlike hardship tells me I mu… Like a sick eagle looking at the s…
There was one Mrs. Cameron of 50 years of age and the fattest woman in all Inverness-shire who got up this Mountain some few years ago—true she had her servants—but then she had her sel...
Fame, like a wayward girl, will st… To those who woo her with too slav… But makes surrender to some though… And dotes the more upon a heart at… She is a Gypsy,-will not speak to…
The town, the churchyard, and the… The clouds, the trees, the rounded… Though beautiful, cold—strange—as… I dreamed long ago, now new begun. The short-liv’d, paly summer is bu…
I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, l… Merciful love that tantalizes not, One-thoughted, never-wandering, gu… Unmasked, and being seen—without a… O! let me have thee whole,—all—all…
Good Kosciusko, thy great name al… Is a full harvest whence to reap h… It comes upon us like the glorious… Of the wide spheres—an everlasting… And now it tells me, that in world…
Cat! who hast pass’d thy grand cli… How many mice and rats hast in thy… Destroy’d? How many tit bits stol… With those bright languid segments… Those velvet ears—but pr’ythee do…
Bright star, would I were stedfas… Not in lone splendour hung aloft t… And watching, with eternal lids ap… Like nature’s patient, sleepless… The moving waters at their priestl…
Where’s the Poet? Show him! show… Muses nine! that I may know him! ‘Tis the man, who with a man Is an equal, be he King, Or poorest of the beggar-clan,
Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid… Give answer by thy voice—the sea-f… When were thy shoulders mantled in… When from the sun was thy broad fo… How long is’t since the mighty Po…