#EnglishWriters #Romantic
So, we’ll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart be still as lovin… And the moon be still as bright. For the sword outwears its sheath,
In thee I fondly hoped to clasp A friend whom death alone could se… Till envy, with malignant grasp, Detach’d thee from my breast for e… True, she has forced thee from my…
JOHN ADAMS lies here, of the p… A Carrier who carried his can to… He carried so much, and he carried… He could carry no more‑so was carr… For, the liquor he drank, being to…
Great Jove, to whose almighty thr… Both gods and mortals homage pay, Ne’er may my soul thy power disown… Thy dread behests ne’er disobey. Oft shall the sacred victim fall
[Justum et tenacem propositi virum… The man of firm and noble soul No factious clamours can control; No threat’ning tyrant’s darkling b… Can swerve him from his just inten…
Sweet girl! though only once we me… That meeting I shall ne’er forget… And though we ne’er may meet again… Remembrance will thy form retain. I would not say, ‘I love,’ but st…
Lesbia! since far from you I’ve r… Our souls with fond affection glow… You say 'tis I, not you, have cha… I’d tell you why,—but yet I know… Your polish’d brow no cares have c…
Oh! my lonely—lonely—lonely—Pillo… Where is my lover? where is my lov… Is it his bark which my dreary dre… Far—far away! and alone along the… Oh! my lonely-lonely-lonely-Pill…
There be none of Beauty’s daughte… With a magic like thee; And like music on the waters Is thy sweet voice to me: When, as if its sound were causing
These locks, which fondly thus ent… In firmer chains our hearts confin… Than all th’ unmeaning protestatio… Which swell with nonsense love ora… Our love is fix’d, I think we’ve…
I Read the 'Christabel’; Very well: I read the Missionary’; Pretty - very I tried at Ilderim ;
Well! thou art happy, and I feel That I should thus be happy too; For still my heart regards thy wea… Warmly, as it was wont to do. Thy husband’s blest—and 'twill imp…
Why, Pigot, complain of this dams… Why thus in despair do you fret? For months you may try, yet, belie… Will never obtain a coquette. Would you teach her to love? for a…
The Devil return’d to hell by two… And he stay’d at home till five; When he dined on some homicides do… And a rebel or so in an Irish ste… And sausages made of a self-slain…
Oh you, who in all names can tickl… Anacreon, Tom Little, Tom Moore,… For hang me if I know of which yo… Your Quarto two-pounds, or your T… But now to my letter-to yours 'tis…