#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
I am as a spirit who has dwelt Within his heart of hearts, and I… His feelings, and have thought his… The inmost converse of his soul, t… Unheard but in the silence of his…
49 Go thou to Rome,—at once the Para… The grave, the city, and the wilde… And where its wrecks like shattere… And flowering weeds, and fragrant…
Stern, stern is the voice of fate’… When accents of horror it breathes… Or compels us for aye bid adieu to… Where exists that loved friend to… 'Tis sterner than death o’er the s…
The golden gates of Sleep unbar Where Strength and Beauty, met to… Kindle their image like a star In a sea of glassy weather! Night, with all thy stars look dow…
And canst thou mock mine agony, th… In cloudless radiance, Queen of s… Can you, ye flow’rets, spread your… Mid pearly gems of dew that shine… And you wild winds, thus can you s…
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken… Rose leaves, when the rose is dead…
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… Such lovely ministers to meet
Great Spirit whom the sea of boun… Nurtures within its unimagined cav… In which thou sittest sole, as in… Giving a voice to its mysterious w…
Mine eyes were dim with tears unsh… Yes, I was firm—thus wert not tho… My baffled looks did fear yet drea… To meet thy looks—I could not kno… How anxiously they sought to shine
O thou immortal deity Whose throne is in the depth of hu… I do adjure thy power and thee By all that man may be, by all tha… By all that he has been and yet mu…
Now the last day of many days, All beautiful and bright as thou, The loveliest and the last, is dea… Rise, Memory, and write its prais… Up,—to thy wonted work! come, trac…
See yon opening flower Spreads its fragrance to the blast… It fades within an hour, Its decay is pale—is fast. Paler is yon maiden;
Corpses are cold in the tomb; Stones on the pavement are dumb; Abortions are dead in the womb, And their mothers look pale—like t… Of Albion, free no more.
From the Greek. A man who was about to hang himsel… Finding a purse, then threw away h… The owner, coming to reclaim his p… The halter found; and used it. So…
How stern are the woes of the deso… As he bends in still grief o’er th… As enanguished he turns from the l… And drops to perfection’s remembra… When floods of despair down his pa…
