#EnglishWriters
It was a bright and cheerful after… Towards the end of the sunny month… When the north wind congregates in… The floating mountains of the silv… From the horizon—and the stainless…
Ask not the pallid stranger’s woe, With beating heart and throbbing b… Whose step is faltering, weak, and… As though the body needed rest.— Whose ‘wildered eye no object meet…
Swift as a spirit hastening to his… Of glory & of good, the Sun spran… Rejoicing in his splendour, & the… Of darkness fell from the awakened… The smokeless altars of the mounta…
Thy dewy looks sink in my breast; Thy gentle words stir poison there… Thou hast disturbed the only rest That was the portion of despair! Subdued to Duty’s hard control,
My faint spirit was sitting in the… Of thy looks, my love; It panted for thee like the hind a… For the brooks, my love. Thy barb whose hoofs outspeed the…
'Here lieth One whose name was wr… But, ere the breath that could era… Death, in remorse for that fell sl… Death, the immortalizing winter, f… Athwart the stream,—and time’s pri…
I rode one evening with Count Mad… Upon the bank of land which breaks… Of Adria towards Venice: a bare s… Of hillocks, heap’d from ever-shif… Matted with thistles and amphibiou…
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…
Rarely, rarely comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day
A hater he came and sat by a ditch… And he took an old cracked lute; And he sang a song which was more… ‘Gainst a woman that was a brute.
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…
‘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
O universal Mother, who dost keep From everlasting thy foundations d… Eldest of things, Great Earth, I… All shapes that have their dwellin… All things that fly, or on the gro…
Dear home, thou scene of earliest… The least of which wronged Memory… Bitterer than all thine unremember…
If I walk in Autumn’s even While the dead leaves pass, If I look on Spring’s soft heav… Something is not there which was Winter’s wondrous frost and snow,