#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
A gentle story of two lovers young… Who met in innocence and died in s… And of one selfish heart, whose ra… Like curses on them; are ye slow t… The lore of truth from such a tale…
One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely disdained For thee to disdain it; One hope is too like despair
Adapted From The Vita Nuova Of… What Mary is when she a little sm… I cannot even tell or call to mind… It is a miracle so new, so rare.
He wanders, like a day-appearing d… Through the dim wildernesses of th… Through desert woods and tracts, w… Like ocean, homeless, boundless, u…
The odour from the flower is gone Which like thy kisses breathed on… The colour from the flower is flow… Which glowed of thee and only thee… II.
We are as clouds that veil the mid… How restlessly they speed, and gle… Streaking the darkness radiantly!—… Night closes round, and they are l… Or like forgotten lyres, whose dis…
I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden, Thou needest not fear mine; My spirit is too deeply laden Ever to burthen thine. II.
Methought I was a billow in the c… Of common men, that stream without… That ocean which at once is deaf a… That I, a man, stood amid many mo… By a wayside..., which the aspect…
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…
Good-night? ah! no; the hour is il… Which severs those it should unite… Let us remain together still, Then it will be good night. How can I call the lone night goo…
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,… But leech-like to their fainting c…
And that I walk thus proudly crow… Is that ’tis my distinction; if I… I shall not weep out of the vital… To-morrow dust, nor wear a dull de…
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;
The rude wind is singing The dirge of the music dead; The cold worms are clinging Where kisses were lately fed.
I weep for Adonais –he is dead! O, weep for Adonais! though our t… Thaw not the frost which binds so… And thou, sad Hour, selected from… To mourn our loss, rouse thy obscu…
