#English #Romanticism
Charles! my slow heart was only sa… I scanned that face of feeble infa… For dimly on my thoughtful spirit… All I had been, and all my babe m… But when I saw it on its Mother’s…
Ere on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees ; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to Love compose,
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…
I have experienc’d The worst, the World can wreak on… That can make Life indifferent, y… With whisper’d Discontents the dy… I have beheld the whole of all, wh…
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…
Poor little Foal of an oppressed… I love the languid patience of thy… And oft with gentle hand I give t… And clap thy ragged coat, and pat… But what thy dulled spirits hath d…
When youth his fairy reign began, Ere sorrow had proclaimed me man; While peace the present hour begui… And all the lovely prospect smiled… Then, Mary! 'mid my lightsome gle…
Thou bleedest, my poor heart! and… Reas’ning I ponder with a scornfu… And probe thy sore wound sternly,… Swollen be mine eye and dim with h… Why didst thou listen to Hope’s w…
Ungrateful he, who pluck’d thee fr… Poor faded flow’ret! on his carele… Inhal’d awhile thy odours on his w… Then onward pass’d and left thee t… Ah! melancholy emblem! had I seen
A blessed lot hath he, who having… His youth and early manhood in the… And turmoil of the world, retreats… With cares that move, not agitate… To the same dwelling where his fat…
The sole true Something—This! In… It frightens Ghosts as Ghosts her… For skimming in the wake it mock’d… Of the old Boat-God for his Fart… Tho’ Irus’ Ghost itself he ne’er…
As late I lay in Slumber’s shadow… With wetted cheek and in a mourner… I saw the sainted form of FREE… She spake! not sadder moans the au… 'Great Son of Genius! sweet to me…
There passed a weary time. Each t… Was parched, and glazed each eye. A weary time! a weary time! How glazed each weary eye, When looking westward, I beheld
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…
Hence that fantastic wantonness of… O Youth to partial Fortune vainly… To plunder’d Want’s half-shelter’… Go, and some hunger-bitten infant… Moan haply in a dying mother’s ear…
