#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
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
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…
Summer was dead and Autumn was ex… And infant Winter laughed upon th… All cloudlessly and cold;—when I,… More in this world than any unders… Wept o’er the beauty, which, like…
Melodious Arethusa, o’er my verse Shed thou once more the spirit of… Who denies verse to Gallus? So, w… Glidest beneath the green and purp… Of Syracusan waters, mayst thou f…
Tremble, Kings despised of man! Ye traitors to your Country, Tremble! Your parricidal plan At length shall meet its destiny..… We all are soldiers fit to fight,
Shall we roam, my love, To the twilight grove, When the moon is rising bright; Oh, I’ll whisper there, In the cool night-air,
When the lamp is shattered The light in the dust lies dead — When the cloud is scattered, The rainbow’s glory is shed. When the lute is broken,
THE world is dreary, And I’m weary Of wandering on without thee, Mar… A joy was erewhile In thy voice and thy smile,
'Tis the terror of tempest. The r… Are flickering in ribbons within t… From the stark night of vapours th… And when lightning is loosed, like… She sees the black trunks of the w…
The keen stars were twinkling, And the fair moon was rising among… Dear Jane. The guitar was tinkling, But the notes were not sweet till…
WHEN the lamp is shatter’d, The light in the dust lies dead; When the cloud is scatter’d, The rainbow’s glory is shed; When the lute is broken,
My head is wild with weeping for a… Which is the shadow of a gentle mi… I walk into the air (but no relief To seek,—or haply, if I sought, t… It came unsought);—to wonder that…
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…
Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twin… Whom the fair-ankled Leda, mixed… With mighty Saturn’s Heaven-obscu… On Taygetus, that lofty mountain… Brought forth in joy: mild Pollux…
‘Do you not hear the Aziola cry? Methinks she must be nigh,’ Said Mary, as we sate In dusk, ere stars were lit, or ca… And I, who thought
