#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury #XVIIICentury
'Tis true, Idoloclastes Satyrane! (So call him, for so mingling blam… And smiles with anxious looks, his… Masking his birth-name, wont to ch… His wild-wood fancy and impetuous…
Auspicious Reverence! Hush all me… Ere we the deep preluding strain h… To the Great Father, only Rightf… Eternal Father! King Omnipotent! To the Will Absolute, the One, t…
Underneath an old oak tree There was of swine a huge company That grunted as they crunched the… For that was ripe, and fell full f… Then they trotted away, for the wi…
Well! If the Bard was weather—wis… The grand old ballad of Sir Patri… This night, so tranquil now, will… Unroused by winds, that ply a busi… Than those which mould yon cloud i…
Come, come thou bleak December wi… And blow the dry leaves from the t… Flash, like a Love-thought, thro’… And take a Life that wearies me.
Water and windmills, greenness, I… Willows whose Trunks beside the s… Of their own higher half, and will… Farmhouses that at anchor seem’d—i… The fog-transfixing Spires—
Oh! not by Cam or Isis, famous st… In arched groves, the youthful poe… Nor while half-listening, mid deli… To harp and song from lady’s hand… Nor yet while gazing in sublimer m…
(Beareth all things.—-1 Cor. xiii… Gently I took that which ungently… And without scorn forgave:—Do tho… A wrong done to thee think a cat’s… Thou wouldst not see, were not thi…
Come hither, gently rowing, Come, bear me quickly o’er This stream so brightly flowing To yonder woodland shore. But vain were my endeavour
Why need I say, Louisa dear! How glad I am to see you here, A lovely convalescent; Risen from the bed of pain and fea… And feverish heat incessant.
How warm this woodland wild Reces… Love surely hath been breathing he… And this sweet bed of heath, my de… Swells up, then sinks with faint c… As if to have you yet more near.
(Act V, scene i) And this place our forefathers mad… This is the process of our Love a… To each poor brother who offends a… Most innocent, perhaps—and what if…
And in Life’s noisiest hour, There whispers still the ceaseless… The heart’s Self-solace and solil… You mould my Hopes, you fashion m… And to the leading Love-throb in…
Are there two things, of all which… That are so like each other and so… As mutual Love seems like to Happ… Dear Asra, woman beyond utterance… This love which ever welling at my…
Not always should the tear’s ambro… Roll its soft anguish down thy fur… Not always heaven-breathed tones o… Beseem thee, Mercy! Yon dark Sco… Who with proud words of dear-loved…
