#EnglishWriters
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…
SWIFTLY walk o’er the western w… Spirit of Night! Out of the misty eastern cave,— Where, all the long and lone dayli… Thou wovest dreams of joy and fear
What! alive and so bold, O Earth? Art thou not overbold? What! leapest thou forth as of old In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starr…
The sun is set; the swallows are a… The bats are flitting fast in the… The slow soft toads out of damp co… And evening’s breath, wandering he… Over the quivering surface of the…
We are as clouds that veil the mid… How restlessly they speed and glea… Streaking the darkness radiantly!… Night closes round, and they are l… Or like forgotten lyres whose diss…
He wanders, like a day-appearing d… Through the dim wildernesses of th… Through desert woods and tracts, w… Like ocean, homeless, boundless, u…
From the Greek of Plato. Thou wert the morning star among t… Ere thy fair light had fled;— Now, having died, thou art as Hes… New splendour to the dead.
Bear witness, Erin! when thine in… Sees summer on its verdant pasture… Its cornfields waving in the winds… The billowy surface of thy circlin… Thou tree whose shadow o’er the A…
Hopes, that swell in youthful brea… Live not through the waste of time… Love’s rose a host of thorns inves… Cold, ungenial is the clime, Where its honours blow.
A: Not far from hence. From yonder p… Crowned with a ring of oaks, you m… A dark and barren field, through w… Sluggish and black, a deep but nar…
Moonbeam, leave the shadowy vale, To bathe this burning brow. Moonbeam, why art thou so pale, As thou walkest o’er the dewy dale… Where humble wild-flowers grow?
What men gain fairly—that they sho… And children may inherit idleness, From him who earns it’This is u… Private injustice may be general g… But he who gains by base and armed…
Dar’st thou amid the varied multit… To live alone, an isolated thing? To see the busy beings round thee… And care for none; in thy calm sol… A flower that scarce breathes in t…
And the cloven waters like a chasm… Stood, and received him in its mig… And led him through the deep’s u… He went in wonder through the path… Of his great Mother and her humid…
The rude wind is singing The dirge of the music dead; The cold worms are clinging Where kisses were lately fed.
