#EnglishWriters
Once, early in the morning, Beelz… With care his sweet person adornin… He put on his Sunday clothes. II. He drew on a boot to hide his hoof…
The fountains mingle with the rive… And the rivers with the ocean, The winds of heaven mix for ever With a sweet emotion; Nothing in the world is single;
How, my dear Mary,—are you critic… (For vipers kill, though dead) by… That you condemn these verses I h… Because they tell no story, false… What, though no mice are caught by…
Brothers! between you and me Whirlwinds sweep and billows roar: Yet in spirit oft I see On thy wild and winding shore Freedom’s bloodless banners wave,—
To thirst and find no fill—to wail… With short unsteady steps—to pause… To feel the blood run through the… Where busy thought and blind sensa… To nurse the image of unfelt cares…
Amid the desolation of a city, Which was the cradle, and is now t… Of an extinguished people,'so th… Weeps o’er the shipwrecks of Ob… There stands the Tower of Famine.…
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,
And the cloven waters like a chasm… Stood, and received him in its mig… And led him through the deep’s u… He went in wonder through the path… Of his great Mother and her humid…
The everlasting universe of things Flows through the mind, and rolls… Now dark—now glittering—now reflec… Now lending splendour, where from… The source of human thought its tr…
A shovel of his ashes took From the hearth’s obscurest nook, Muttering mysteries as she went. Helen and Henry knew that Granny Was as much afraid of Ghosts as a…
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…
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…
Oh! did you observe the Black Can… And did you observe his frown? He goeth to say the midnight mass, In holy St. Edmond’s town. He goeth to sing the burial chaunt…
“Throughout these infinite orbs of… Of which yon earth is one, is wide… A Spirit of activity and life, That knows no term, cessation, or… That fades not when the lamp of ea…
Hopes, that swell in youthful brea… Live not through the waste of time… Love’s rose a host of thorns inves… Cold, ungenial is the clime, Where its honours blow.