#English #Romanticism
The Moon, how definite its orb! Yet gaze again, and with a steady… 'Tis there indeed,—but where is it… It is suffused o’er all the sapphi… Trees, herbage, snake-like stream,…
It is an ancient Mariner, And he stoppeth one of three. 'By thy long grey beard and glitte… Now wherefore stopp’st thou me? The Bridegroom’s doors are opened…
Dear native brook! wild streamlet… How many various-fated years have… What happy and what mournful hours… I skimmed the smooth thin stone al… Numbering its light leaps! Yet so…
The first seen in the season Nitens et roboris expers Turget et insolida est: et spe del… —Ovid, Metam. [xv.203]. Thy smiles I note, sweet early Fl…
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…
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…
'Be, rather than be call’d, a chil… Death whisper’d!—with assenting no… Its head upon its mother’s breast, The Baby bow’d, without demur— Of the kingdom of the Blest
Stop, Christian passer—by!—Stop,… And read with gentle breast. Bene… A poet lies, or that which once se… O, lift one thought in prayer for… That he who many a year with toil…
Where is the grave of Sir Arthur… Where may the grave of that good m… By the side of a spring, on the br… Under the twigs of a young birch t… The oak that in summer was sweet t…
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…
Oft o’er my brain does that strang… Which makes the present (while the… Seem a mere semblance of some unkn… Mixed with such feelings, as perpl… Self-questioned in her sleep: and…
Nor cold nor stern my soul! Yet I… These scented rooms, where to a ga… Heaves the proud harlot her disten… In intricacies of laborious song. These feel not musics genuine powe…
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.
Come hither, gently rowing, Come, bear me quickly o’er This stream so brightly flowing To yonder woodland shore. But vain were my endeavour
Where graced with many a classic s… Cam rolls his reverend stream alon… I haste to urge the learned toil That sternly chides my love-lorn s… Ah me! too mindful of the days
