#English #Romanticism #XIXCentury
A golden-winged Angel stood Before the Eternal Judgement-seat… His looks were wild, and Devils’… Stained his dainty hands and feet. The Father and the Son
Young things themselves, tend on the youngling sheep, Have they the Bromian drink from the vine’s stream? What, ho! assistance, comrades, haste, assistance! Or boiled and seethed within...
That time is dead for ever, child! Drowned, frozen, dead for ever! We look on the past And stare aghast At the spectres wailing, pale and…
It is not blasphemy to hope that… More perfectly will give those nam… Which throb within the pulses of t… And sweeten all that bitterness wh… Infuses in the heaven-born soul.…
Come, be happy!'sit near me, Shadow-vested Misery: Coy, unwilling, silent bride, Mourning in thy robe of pride, Desolation’deified!
Ah! grasp the dire dagger and couc… If vengeance and death to thy boso… The dastard shall perish, death’s… For fate and revenge are decreed f… Ah! where is the hero, whose nerve…
Ambition, power, and avarice, now… Death, fate, and ruin, on a bleedi… See! on yon heath what countless v… Hark! what loud shrieks ascend thr… Tell then the cause, 'tis sure the…
Extract from Poetical Essay Millions to fight compell’d, to fi… In mangled heaps on War’s red alt… When the legal murders swell the l… When glory’s views the titled idio…
His face was like a snake’s—wrinkl… And withered—
I dreamed that Milton’s spirit ro… From life’s green tree his Urania… And from his touch sweet thunder f… All human things built in contempt… And sanguine thrones and impious a…
The death-bell beats!— The mountain repeats The echoing sound of the knell; And the dark Monk now Wraps the cowl round his brow,
Thou art fair, and few are fairer Of the Nymphs of earth or ocean; They are robes that fit the wearer… Those soft limbs of thine, whose m… Ever falls and shifts and glances
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—
Fierce roars the midnight storm O’er the wild mountain, Dark clouds the night deform, Swift rolls the fountain— See! o’er yon rocky height,
Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight! Wherefore hast thou left me now Many a day and night? Many a weary night and day
