#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury #XVIIICentury
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…
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…
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…
O! it is pleasant with a heart at… Just after sunset, or by moonlight… To make the shifting clouds be wha… Or let the easily persuaded eyes Own each quaint likeness issuing f…
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…
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.
'With Donne, whose muse on dromed… Wreathe iron pokers into true-love… Rhyme’s sturdy cripple, fancy’s ma… Wit’s forge and fire-blast, meanin…
The poet in his lone yet genial ho… Gives to his eyes a magnifying pow… Or rather he emancipates his eyes From the black shapeless accidents… In unctuous cones of kindling coal…
Tho’ roused by that dark Visir ri… Have driven our Priestly o’er the… Tho’ Superstition and her wolfish… Bay his mild radiance, impotent an… Calm in his halls of Brightness h…
With many a pause and oft reverted… I climb the Coomb’s ascent: sweet… Warble in shade their wild-wood me… Far off the unvarying Cuckoo soot… Up scour the startling stragglers…
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—
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…
Tho’ veiled in spires of myrtle-wr… Love is a sword that cuts its shea… And thro’ the clefts, itself has m… We spy the flashes of the Blade! But thro’ the clefts, itself has m…
‘I fear thee, ancient Mariner! I fear thy skinny hand! And thou art long, and lank, and b… As is the ribbed sea-sand. I fear thee and thy glittering eye…
