#EnglishWriters
Once, early in the morning, Beelz… With care his sweet person adornin… He put on his Sunday clothes. II. He drew on a boot to hide his hoof…
Hark! the owlet flaps her wing, In the pathless dell beneath, Hark! night ravens loudly sing, Tidings of despair and death.— Horror covers all the sky,
Bright ball of flame that through… Silently takest thine aethereal wa… And with surpassing glory dimm’st… Twinkling amid the dark blue depth… Unlike the fire thou bearest, soon…
The fiery mountains answer each ot… Their thunderings are echoed from… The tempestuous oceans awake one a… And the ice-rocks are shaken round… When the clarion of the Typhoon i…
So now my summer-task is ended, M… And I return to thee, mine own he… As to his Queen some victor Knigh… Earning bright spoils for her ench… Nor thou disdain, that ere my fame…
Alas! this is not what I thought… I knew that there were crimes and… Misery and hate; nor did I hope t… Untouched by suffering, through th… In mine own heart I saw as in a g…
No trump tells thy virtues’the g… With thy dust shall remain unpollu… Till thy foes, by the world and by… Shall pass like a mist from the li… VII.
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,
Follow to the deep wood’s weeds, Follow to the wild-briar dingle, Where we seek to intermingle, And the violet tells her tale To the odour-scented gale,
Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, a… Led by some strong enchantment, mi… A magic ship, whose charmed sails… With winds at will where’er our th… So that no change, nor any evil ch…
When soft winds and sunny skies With the green earth harmonize, And the young and dewy dawn, Bold as an unhunted fawn, Up the windless heaven is gone,—
The babe is at peace within the wo… The corpse is at rest within the t… We begin in what we end.
Cold, cold is the blast when Dece… Cold are the damps on a dying man’… Stern are the seas when the wild w… And sad is the grave where a loved… But colder is scorn from the being…
From the Greek of Moschus. Ye Dorian woods and waves, lament… Augment your tide, O streams, wit… For the beloved Bion is no more. Let every tender herb and plant an…
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