#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
Wake the serpent not’lest he Should not know the way to go,— Let him crawl which yet lies sleep… Through the deep grass of the mead… Not a bee shall hear him creeping,
Flourishing vine, whose kindling c… Beneath the autumnal sun, none tas… For thou dost shroud a ruin, and b… The rotting bones of dead antiquit…
My head is heavy, my limbs are wea… And it is not life that makes me m…
Let those who pine in pride or in… Or think that ill for ill should b… Who barter wrong for wrong, until… Ruins the merchants of such thrift… Visit the tower of Vado, and unle…
The warm sun is falling, the bleak… The bare boughs are sighing, the p… And the Year On the earth is her death-bed, in… Is lying.
Earth, Ocean, Air, belovèd broth… If our great Mother has imbued my… With aught of natural piety to fee… Your love, and recompense the boon… If dewy morn, and odorous noon, an…
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
The death-bell beats!— The mountain repeats The echoing sound of the knell; And the dark Monk now Wraps the cowl round his brow,
In the cave which wild weeds cover Wait for thine aethereal lover; For the pallid moon is waning, O’er the spiral cypress hanging And the moon no cloud is staining.
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…
There is a warm and gentle atmosph… About the form of one we love, and… As in a tender mist our spirits ar… Wrapped in the of that which is to… The health of life’s own life—
Thy look of love has power to calm The stormiest passion of my soul; Thy gentle words are drops of balm In life’s too bitter bowl; No grief is mine, but that alone
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
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…
The season was the childhood of sw… Whose sunny hours from morning unt… Went creeping through the day with… Each with its load of pleasure; sl… Like the long years of blest Eter…
