#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
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…
Nor happiness, nor majesty, nor fa… Nor peace, nor strength, nor skill… Shepherd those herds whom tyranny… Verse echoes not one beating of th… History is but the shadow of their…
Death! where is thy victory? To triumph whilst I die, To triumph whilst thine ebon wing Enfolds my shuddering soul? O Death! where is thy sting?
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,
The cold earth slept below; Above the cold sky shone; And all around, With a chilling sound, From caves of ice and fields of sn…
O Wild West Wind, thou breath of… Thou, from whose unseen presence t… Are driven, like ghosts from an en… Yellow, and black, and pale, and h… Pestilence-stricken multitudes: O…
Come, thou awakener of the spirit’… Zephyr, whom to thy cloud or cave No thought can trace! speed with t…
She was an aged woman; and the yea… Which she had numbered on her toil… Had bowed her natural powers to de… She was an aged woman; yet the ray Which faintly glimmered through he…
The serpent is shut out from Para… The wounded deer must seek the her… In which its heart-cure lies: The widowed dove must cease to hau… Like that from which its mate with…
Hark! the owlet flaps his wings In the pathless dell beneath; Hark! ’tis the night-raven sings Tidings of approaching death.
The death knell is ringing The raven is singing The earth worm is creeping The mourners are weeping Ding dong, bell—
Wilt thou forget the happy hours Which we buried in Love’s sweet… Heaping over their corpses cold Blossoms and leaves, instead of mo… Blossoms which were the joys that…
Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couc… If vengeance and death to thy boso… The dastard shall perish, death’s… For fate and revenge are decreed f… Ah! where is the hero, whose nerve…
So now my summer-task is ended, M… And I return to thee, mine own he… As to his Queen some victor Knigh… Earning bright spoils for her ench… Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame…
A cat in distress, Nothing more, nor less; Good folks, I must faithfully tel… As I am a sinner, It waits for some dinner
