#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Men of England, wherefore plough For the lords who lay ye low? Wherefore weave with toil and care The rich robes your tyrants wear? Wherefore feed and clothe and save…
Here I sit with my paper, my pen… First of this thing, and that thin… Then my thoughts come so pell-mell… That the sense or the subject I n… This word is wrong placed,—no rega…
ROSALIND, HELEN, and her Ch… SCENE. The Shore of the Lake o… HELEN Come hither, my sweet Rosalind. 'T is long since thou and I have…
PEOPLE of England, ye who toil… Who reap the harvests which are no… Who weave the clothes which your o… And for your own take the inclemen… Who build warm houses . . .
'Thus do the generations of the ea… Go to the grave and issue from the… Surviving still the imperishable c… That renovates the world; even as… Which the keen frost-wind of the w…
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…
SCENE.—A Ravine of Icy Rocks i… Prometheus. Monarch of Gods and Dæmons, and a… But One, who throng those bright… Which Thou and I alone of living…
Swifter far than summer’s flight— Swifter far than youth’s delight— Swifter far than happy night, Art thou come and gone— As the earth when leaves are dead,
The sleepless Hours who watch me… Curtained with star-inwoven tapest… From the broad moonlight of the sk… Fanning the busy dreams from my di… Waken me when their Mother, the g…
There is a warm and gentle atmosph… About the form of one we love, and… As in a tender mist our spirits ar… Wrapped in the of that which is to… The health of life’s own life—
Ah! sweet is the moonbeam that sle… And sweet the mild rush of the sof… And sweet is the glimpse of yon di… 'Neath the verdant arcades of yon… But sweeter than all was thy tone…
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.…
Hark! the owlet flaps his wings In the pathless dell beneath; Hark! ’tis the night-raven sings Tidings of approaching death.
Dakrysi Dioisw Potmon Apotmon Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fa… As star-beams among twilight trees…
Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow Struggling in thine haggard eye: Firmness dare to borrow From the wreck of destiny; For the ray morn’s bloom revealing
