#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Oh! how I love, on a fair summer’… When streams of light pour down th… And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil… The silver clouds, far—far away to… All meaner thoughts, and take a sw…
This mortal body of a thousand day… Now fills, O Burns, a space in th… Where thou didst dream alone on bu… Happy and thoughtless of thy day o… My pulse is warm with thine old ba…
Bright star, would I were steadfa… Not in lone splendour hung aloft t… And watching, with eternal lids ap… Like Nature’s patient sleepless E… The moving waters at their priestl…
Old Meg she was a Gipsy, And liv’d upon the Moors: Her bed it was the brown heath tur… And her house was out of doors. Her apples were swart blackberries…
GIVE me women, wine, and snuff Untill I cry out “hold, enough!” You may do so sans objection Till the day of resurrection: For, bless my beard, they aye shal…
There was a naughty boy, A naughty boy was he, He would not stop at home, He could not quiet be– He took
The day is gone, and all its sweet… Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand… Warm breath, light whisper, tender… Bright eyes, accomplished shape, a… Faded the flower and all its budde…
O Chatterton! how very sad thy fa… Dear child of sorrow—son of misery… How soon the film of death obscur’… Whence Genius mildly falsh’d, and… How soon that voice, majestic and…
O thou whose face hath felt the W… Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds… And the black elm tops 'mong the f… To thee the spring will be a harve… O thou, whose only book has been t…
As Hermes once took to his feathe… When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon… So on a Delphic reed, my idle spr… So played, so charmed, so conquere… The dragon-world of all its hundre…
O SORROW! Why dost borrow The natural hue of health, from… To give maiden blushes To the white rose bushes?
A thing of beauty is a joy for eve… Its lovliness increases; it will n… Pass into nothingness; but still w… A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams, and health,…
What can I do to drive away Remembrance from my eyes? for they… Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant Qu… Touch has a memory. O say, love,… What can I do to kill it and be f…
UNFELT unheard, unseen, I’ve left my little queen, Her languid arms in silver slumber… Ah! through their nestling touch, Who—-who could tell how much
Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine