#EnglishWriters
'Tis death! and peace, indeed, is… And ease from shame, and rest from… There’s nothing can dismarble now The smoothness of that limpid brow… But is a calm like this, in truth,
Goethe in Weimar sleeps, and Gree… Long since, saw Byron’s struggle… But one such death remain’d to com… The last poetic voice is dumb— We stand to-day by Wordsworth’s t…
TRISTRAM Raise the light, my Page, that I… Thou art come at last then, haught… Long I’ve waited, long I’ve fough… Late thou comest, cruel thou hast…
Set where the upper streams of Si… Was the Palladium, high 'mid rock… And Hector was in Ilium, far belo… And fought, and saw it not—but the… It stood, and sun and moonshine ra…
God knows it, I am with you. If t… Those virtues, priz’d and practis’… But priz’d, but lov’d, but eminent… Man’s fundamental life: if to desp… The barren optimistic sophistries
“Not by the justice that my father… Not for the thousands whom my fath… Altars unfed and temples overturn’… Cold hearts and thankless tongues,… Fell this dread voice from lips th…
Others abide our question. Thou a… We ask and ask—Thou smilest and a… Out-topping knowledge. For the lo… Who to the stars uncrowns his maje… Planting his steadfast footsteps i…
Go, for they call you, shepherd, f… Go, shepherd, and untie the wattle… No longer leave thy wistful flock… Nor let thy bawling fellows rack t… Nor the cropp’d herbage shoot anot…
How changed is here each spot man… In the two Hinkseys nothing keeps… The village street its haunted man… And from the sign is gone Sibylla… And from the roofs the twisted chi…
Was it a dream? We sail’d, I thou… Martin and I, down the green Alpi… Border’d, each bank, with pines; t… On the wet umbrage of their glossy… On the red pinings of their forest…
The thoughts that rain their stead… Like stars on life’s cold sea, Which others know, or say they kno… They never shone for me. Thoughts light, like gleams, my sp…
True, we must tame our rebel will: True, we must bow to Nature’s law… Must bear in silence many an ill; Must learn to wait, renounce, with… Yet now, when boldest wills give p…
Hark! ah, the nightingale— The tawny-throated! Hark, from that moonlit cedar what… What triumph! hark!—what pain! O wanderer from a Grecian shore,
What poets feel not, when they mak… A pleasure in creating, The world, in its turn, will not t… Pleasure in contemplating.
LAUGH, 1 my Friends, and withou… Lightly quit what lightly came: Rich to-morrow as to-day Spend as madly as you may. I, with little land to stir,