#EnglishWriters
ONE word is too often profaned For me to profane it; One feeling too falsely disdain’d For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
’Twas dead of the night when I sa… One glimmering lamp was expiring a… Around the dark tide of the tempes… Along the wild mountains night-rav… They bodingly presaged destruction…
Like the ghost of a dear friend de… Is Time long past. A tone which is now forever fled, A hope which is now forever past, A love so sweet it could not last,
I arise from dreams of thee In the first sweet sleep of night, When the winds are breathing low, And the stars are shining bright: I arise from dreams of thee,
‘Sleep, sleep on! forget thy pain; My hand is on thy brow, My spirit on thy brain; My pity on thy heart, poor friend; And from my fingers flow
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing Heaven, and gazing on… Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a differ… And ever changing, like a joyless…
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.
The awful shadow of some unseen P… Floats though unseen among us; vis… This various world with as inconst… As summer winds that creep from fl… Like moonbeams that behind some pi…
Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale, To bathe this burning brow. Moonbeam, why art thou so pale, As thou walkest o’er the dewy dale… Where humble wild-flowers grow?
In the cave which wild weeds cover Wait for thine aethereal lover; For the pallid moon is waning, O’er the spiral cypress hanging And the moon no cloud is staining.
Why is it said thou canst not live In a youthful breast and fair, Since thou eternal life canst give… Canst bloom for ever there? Since withering pain no power poss…
Adapted From The Vita Nuova Of… What Mary is when she a little sm… I cannot even tell or call to mind… It is a miracle so new, so rare.
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory— Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken… Rose leaves, when the rose is dead…
Ye gentle visitations of calm thou… Moods like the memories of happier… Which come arrayed in thoughts of… Like stars in clouds by the weak w… But that the clouds depart and sta…