#EnglishWriters
The odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on… The colour from the flower is flow… Which glowed of thee and only thee… II.
Thus to be lost and thus to sink a… Perchance were death indeed!'Co… In thy dark eyes a power like ligh… Even though the sounds which were… Between thy lips, are laid to slee…
HOW wonderful is Death, Death, and his brother Sleep! One, pale as yonder waning moon With lips of lurid blue; The other, rosy as the morn
From the Greek of Plato. Thou wert the morning star among t… Ere thy fair light had fled;— Now, having died, thou art as Hes… New splendour to the dead.
ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Ch… SCENE. The Shore of the Lake o… HELEN Come hither, my sweet Rosalind. 'T is long since thou and I have…
Dakrysi Dioisw Potmon Apotmon Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fa… As star-beams among twilight trees…
Thy country’s curse is on thee, da… Of that foul, knotted, many-headed… Which rends our Mother’s bosom—Pr… Masked Resurrection of a buried F… II.
Stern, stern is the voice of fate’… When accents of horror it breathes… Or compels us for aye bid adieu to… Where exists that loved friend to… ’Tis sterner than death o’er the s…
I sing the glorious Power with az… Athenian Pallas! tameless, chaste… Tritogenia, town-preserving Maid, Revered and mighty; from his awful… Whom Jove brought forth, in warli…
How swiftly through Heaven’s wide… Bright day’s resplendent colours f… How sweetly does the moonbeam’s gl… With silver tint St. Irvyne’s gla… II.
Come Harriet! sweet is the hour, Soft Zephyrs breathe gently aroun… The anemone’s night-boding flower, Has sunk its pale head on the grou… 'Tis thus the world’s keenness hat…
A scene, which 'wildered fancy vie… In the soul’s coldest solitude, With that same scene when peaceful… Flings rapture’s colour o’er the g… When mountain, meadow, wood and st…
Thou wert not, Cassius, and thou… Last of the Romans, though thy me… From Brutus his own glory—and on… Rests the full splendour of his sa… Nor he who dared make the foul tyr…
From the Greek of Plato. Kissing Helena, together With my kiss, my soul beside it Came to my lips, and there I kept… For the poor thing had wandered th…
Here I sit with my paper, my pen… First of this thing, and that thin… Then my thoughts come so pell-mell… That the sense or the subject I n… This word is wrong placed,—no rega…
