#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
My thoughts arise and fade in soli… The verse that would invest them m… Like moonlight in the heaven of sp… How beautiful they were, how firm… Flecking the starry sky like woven…
HOW wonderful is Death, Death, and his brother Sleep! One, pale as yonder waning moon With lips of lurid blue; The other, rosy as the morn
I stood upon a heaven-cleaving tur… Which overlooked a wide Metropoli… And in the temple of my heart my… Lay prostrate, and with parted lip… The dust of Desolations [altar] h…
My head is wild with weeping for a… Which is the shadow of a gentle mi… I walk into the air (but no relief To seek,—or haply, if I sought, t… It came unsought);—to wonder that…
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…
My head is heavy, my limbs are wea… And it is not life that makes me m…
An old, mad, blind, despised, and… Princes, the dregs of their dull r… Through public scorn,—mud from a m… Rulers who neither see nor feel no… But leechlike to their fainting co…
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…
His face was like a snake’s—wrinkl… And withered—
These are two friends whose lives… So let their memory be, now they h… Under the grave; let not their bon… For their two hearts in life were…
Summer was dead and Autumn was ex… And infant Winter laughed upon th… All cloudlessly and cold;—when I,… More in this world than any unders… Wept o’er the beauty, which, like…
A cat in distress, Nothing more, nor less; Good folks, I must faithfully tel… As I am a sinner, It waits for some dinner
The pale, the cold, and the moony… Which the meteor beam of a starles… Sheds on a lonely and sea-girt isl… Ere the dawning of morn’s undoubte… Is the flame of life so fickle and…
Listen, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thu… Or like the sea on a northern shor… Heard in its raging ebb and flow
I love thee, Baby! for thine own… Those azure eyes, that faintly dim… Thy tender frame, so eloquently we… Love in the sternest heart of hate… But more when o’er thy fitful slum…
