#English #Romanticism
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…
Lady. If Love be dead (and you aver it!… Tell me, Bard! where Love lies bu… Poet. Love lies buried where 'twas born,
While my young cheek retains its h… And I have many friends who hold… L——! methinks, I would not often… Such melodies as thine, lest I sh… All memory of the wrongs and sore…
Tho’ much averse, dear Jack, to f… To find a likeness for friend V——… I’ve made, thro’ earth, and air, a… A voyage of discovery! And let me add (to ward off strife…
A Conversation Poem, April, 1798 No cloud, no relique of the sunken… Distinguishes the West, no long t… Of sullen light, no obscure trembl… Come, we will rest on this old mos…
'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…
Resembles Life what once was held… Too ample in itself for human sigh… An absolute Self—an element ungro… All, that we see, all colours of a… [Image]By encroach of darkness ma…
The tedded hay, the first-fruits o… The tedded hay and corn-sheaves in… Show summer gone, ere come. The f… Sheds its loose purple bells, or i… Or when it bends beneath the up-sp…
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,
O! I do love thee, meek Simplicit… For of thy lays the lulling simple… Goes to my heart, and soothes each… Distress tho’ small, yet haply gre… 'Tis true, on Lady Fortune’s gent…
Friend of the Wise! and Teacher o… Into my heart have I received tha… More than historic, that prophetic… Wherein (high theme by thee first… Of the foundations and the buildin…
Tranquillity! thou better name Than all the family of Fame! Thou ne’er wilt leave my riper age To low intrigue, or factious rage; For oh! dear child of thoughtful…
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—
From a letter from STC to Wordsw… In stale blank verse a subject sta… I send per post my Nightingale; And like an honest bard, dear Wor… You’ll tell me what you think, my…
This is now—this was erst, Proposition the first—and Problem… On a given finite Line Which must no way incline; To describe an equi—
