#English #Romanticism #Desire #Love
And this reft house is that the wh… Lamented Jack! And here his malt… Cautious in vain! These rats that… Squeak, not unconscious of their f… Did ye not see her gleaming thro’…
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…
Well, they are gone, and here must… This lime-tree bower my prison! I… Beauties and feelings, such as wou… Most sweet to my remembrance even… Had dimm’d mine eyes to blindness!…
As when far off the warbled strain… That soar on Morning’s wing the v… Within his cage th’ imprisoned mat… Swells the full chorus with a gene… He bathes no pinion in the dewy li…
Hast thou a charm to stay the morn… In his steep course? So long he s… On thy bald awful head, O sovran… The Arve and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most a…
The Sun now rose upon the right: Out of the sea came he, Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea. And the good south wind still blew…
Whom the untaught Shepherds call Pixies in their madrigal, Fancy’s children, here we dwell: Welcome, Ladies! to our cell. Here the wren of softest note
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…
As some vast Tropic tree, itself… That crests its Head with clouds,… Feeds its deep roots, and with the… Of its wide base controls the fron… (By the slant current’s pressure s…
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…
The shepherds went their hasty way… And found the lowly stable-shed Where the Virgin-Mother lay: And now they checked their eager t… For to the Babe, that at her boso…
What if you slept And what if In your sleep You dreamed And what if
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…
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—
The body, Eternal Shadow of the finite Soul… The Soul’s self-symbol, its image… Its own yet not itself—
