#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
I bring fresh showers for the thir… From the seas and the streams; I bear light shade for the leaves… In their noonday dreams. From my wings are shaken the dews…
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,
Hark! the owlet flaps his wings In the pathless dell beneath; Hark! ’tis the night-raven sings Tidings of approaching death.
How sweet it is to sit and read th… Of mighty poets and to hear the wh… Sweet music, which when the attent… Fills the dim pause—
My head is heavy, my limbs are wea… And it is not life that makes me m…
Night, with all thine eyes look do… Darkness shed its holiest dew! When ever smiled the inconstant mo… On a pair so true? Hence, coy hour! and quench thy li…
Music, when soft voices die, Vibrates in the memory; Odours, when sweet violets sicken, Live within the sense they quicken… Rose leaves, when the rose is dead…
Art thou pale for weariness Of climbing heaven and gazing on t… Wandering companionless Among the stars that have a differ… And ever changing, like a joyless…
The rude wind is singing The dirge of the music dead; The cold worms are clinging Where kisses were lately fed.
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…
The flower that smiles to—day To—morrow dies; All that we wish to stay Tempts and then flies. What is this world’s delight?
When a lover clasps his fairest, Then be our dread sport the rarest… Their caresses were like the chaff In the tempest, and be our laugh His despair—her epitaph!
Heigho! the lark and the owl! One flies the morning, and one lul… Only the nightingale, poor fond so… Sings like the fool through darkne… ‘A widow bird sate mourning for he…
Such hope, as is the sick despair… Such fear, as is the certainty of… Such doubt, as is pale Expectatio… Turned while she tastes to poison,… Is powerless, and the spirit...
'What art thou, Presumptuous, who… The wreath to mighty poets only du… Even whilst like a forgotten moon… Touch not those leaves which for t… Who wander o’er the Paradise of f…
