#Romantic
From you, Ianthe, little troubles… Like little ripples down a sunny r… Your pleasures spring like daisies… Cut down, and up again as blithe a…
IS it not better at an early hour In its calm cell to rest the weary… While birds are singing and while… Than sit the fire out and go starv…
Thou hast not rais’d, Ianthe, suc… In any breast as thou hast rais’d… No wandering meteor now, no marshy… Leads on my steps, but lofty, but… And, if thou chillest me, as chill…
Life (priest and poet say) is but… I wish no happier one than to be l… Beneath some cool syringa’s scente… Or wavy willow, by the running str… Brimful of Moral, where the Drago…
Death stands above me, whispering… I know not what into my ear: Of his strange language all I kno… Is, there is not a word of fear.
Father: What brought thee back, l… Son: Father! the same feet As took me brought me back, I war… Father: Couldst thou not find the… Son: The deuce himself
Friends, whom she lookt at blandly… And her white wrist above it, gem—… Were arguing with Pentheusa: she… Report of Creon’s death, whom yea… She listened to, well—pleas’d; and…
Well I remember how you smiled To see me write your name upon The soft sea—sand . . . “O! what… You think you’re writing upon ston… I have since written what no tide
Tanagra! think not I forget Thy beautifully—storey’d streets; Be sure my memory bathes yet In clear Thermodon, and yet greet… The blythe and liberal shepherd bo…
Catch her and hold her if you can— See, she defies you with her fan, Shuts, opens, and then holds it sp… In threatening guise over your hea… Ah! why did you not start before
Why, why repine, my pensive friend… At pleasures slipp’d away? Some the stern Fates will never l… And all refuse to stay. I see the rainbow in the sky,
Proud word you never spoke, but yo… Four not exempt from pride some fu… Resting on one white hand a warm w… Over my open volume you will say, 'This man loved me’—then rise and…
Mild is the parting year, and swee… The odour of the falling spray; Life passes on more rudely fleet, And balmless is its closing day. I wait its close, I court its glo…
I COME to visit thee agen, My little flowerless cyclamen; To touch the hand, almost to press… That cheer’d thee in thy lonelines… What could thy careful guardian fi…
Ianthe! you are call’d to cross th… A path forbidden me! Remember, while the Sun his bless… Upon the mountain—heads, How often we have watcht him layin…