#EnglishWriters
Alas, good friend, what profit can… In hating such a hateless thing as… There is no sport in hate where al… Is on one side: in vain would you… Your frowns upon an unresisting sm…
“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…
Dar’st thou amid the varied multit… To live alone, an isolated thing? To see the busy beings round thee… And care for none; in thy calm sol… A flower that scarce breathes in t…
DRAMATIS PERSONÃ Count Francesco Cenci. Giacomo, his Son. Bernardo, his Son. Cardinal Camillo.
The babe is at peace within the wo… The corpse is at rest within the t… We begin in what we end.
ACCORDING to one mode of regarding those two classes of mental action, which are called reason and imagination, the former may be considered as mind contemplating the relations borne by...
How eloquent are eyes! Not the rapt poet’s frenzied lay When the soul’s wildest feelings s… Can speak so well as they. How eloquent are eyes!
What! alive and so bold, O Earth? Art thou not overbold? What! leapest thou forth as of old In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starr…
Poet of Nature, thou hast wept to… That things depart which never may… Childhood and youth, friendship an… Have fled like sweet dreams, leavi… These common woes I feel. One los…
Night, with all thine eyes look do… Darkness shed its holiest dew! When ever smiled the inconstant mo… On a pair so true? Hence, coy hour! and quench thy li…
Published by Edward Dowden, “Cor… If gibbets, axes, confiscations, c… And racks of subtle torture, if th… Of shame, of fiery Hell’s tempest… Seen through the caverns of the sh…
Death is here and death is there, Death is busy everywhere, All around, within, beneath, Above is death—and we are death. II.
Ariel to Miranda:—Take This slave of music, for the sake Of him who is the slave of thee; And teach it all the harmony In which thou canst, and only thou…
Ye hasten to the grave! What seek… Ye restless thoughts and busy purp… Of the idle brain, which the world… O thou quick heart, which pantest… All that pale Expectation feignet…
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
