#English #Romanticism
... Finally, what is Reason? You… answer:— Whene’er the mist, that stands 'tw… [Sublimates] to a pure transparenc… That intercepts no light and adds…
Sad lot, to have no Hope! Though… He fain would frame a prayer withi… Would fain entreat for some sweet… That his sick body might have ease… He strove in vain! the dull sighs…
He too has flitted from his secret… Hope’s last and dearest child with… Has flitted from me, like the warm… That makes false promise of a plac… To the tired Pilgrim’s still beli…
Song (Act II, Scene I, lines 65-80) A sunny shaft did I behold, From sky to earth it slanted: And poised therein a bird so bold—
If, while my passion I impart, You deem my words untrue, O place your hand upon my heart, Feel how it throbs for you! Ah no! reject the thoughtless clai…
Dear native Brook! wild Streamlet… How many various-fated years have… What happy and what mournful hours… I skimm’d the smooth thin stone al… Numbering its light leaps! yet so…
Ye Clouds! that far above me floa… Whose pathless march no mortal may… Ye Ocean—Waves! that, wheresoe’er… Yield homage only to eternal laws! Ye Woods! that listen to the nigh…
Scene—A spacious drawing-room, wi… Katharine. What are the words? Eliza. Ask our friend, the Improv… to ask of you, Sir ; it is that yo… sweetly.
O thou wild fancy, check thy wing!… Those thin white flakes, those pur… Nor there with happy spirits speed… Bathed in rich amber-glowing flood… Nor in yon gleam, where slow desce…
Once more, sweet stream! with slow… I bless thy milky waters cold and… Escaped the flashing of the noonti… With one fresh garland of Pierian… (Ere from thy zephyr-haunted brink…
From a letter from STC to Wordsw… In stale blank verse a subject sta… I send per post my Nightingale; And like an honest bard, dear Wor… You’ll tell me what you think, my…
Ter. But that entrance, Selma? Sel. Can no one hear? It is a per… Ter. No one. Sel. My husband’s father told it… Poor old Sesina—angels rest his s…
Whom should I choose for my Judge… Who, in the work, forgets me and t… Ye who have eyes to detect, and G… Have you the heart, too, that love… What is the meed of thy Song? 'Ti…
Like a lone Arab, old and blind, Some caravan had left behind, Who sits beside a ruin’d well, Where the shy sand—asps bask and s… And now he hangs his ag{'e}d head…
Trochee trips from long to short; From long to long in solemn sort Slow Spondee stalks, strong foot!… Ever to come up with Dactyl’s tri… Iambics march from short to long.
