#EnglishWriters
Listen, listen, Mary mine, To the whisper of the Apennine, It bursts on the roof like the thu… Or like the sea on a northern shor… Heard in its raging ebb and flow
If solitude hath ever led thy step… To the wild ocean’s echoing shore, And thou hast lingered there, Until the sun’s broad orb Seemed resting on the burnished wa…
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…
Maiden, quench the glare of sorrow Struggling in thine haggard eye: Firmness dare to borrow From the wreck of destiny; For the ray morn’s bloom revealing
A portal as of shadowy adamant Stands yawning on the highway of t… Which we all tread, a cavern huge… Around it rages an unceasing strif… Of shadows, like the restless clou…
To Mary ' ' So now my summer task is ended, M… And I return to thee, mine own he… As to his Queen some victor Knigh… Earning bright spoils for her inch…
My head is heavy, my limbs are wea… And it is not life that makes me m…
The stars may dissolve, and the fo… May sink into ne’er ending chaos a… Our mansions must fall, and earth… But thy courage O Erin! may never… See! the wide wasting ruin extends…
Stern, stern is the voice of fate’… When accents of horror it breathes… Or compels us for aye bid adieu to… Where exists that loved friend to… 'Tis sterner than death o’er the s…
Oh! there are spirits of the air, And genii of the evening breeze, And gentle ghosts, with eyes as fa… As star-beams among twilight trees… Such lovely ministers to meet
As I lay asleep in Italy There came a voice from over the… And with great power it forth led… To walk in the visions of Poesy. I met Murder on the way—
What! alive and so bold, O Earth? Art thou not overbold? What! leapest thou forth as of old In the light of thy morning mirth, The last of the flock of the starr…
Come Harriet! sweet is the hour, Soft Zephyrs breathe gently aroun… The anemone’s night-boding flower, Has sunk its pale head on the grou… 'Tis thus the world’s keenness hat…
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.…
Arethusa arose From her couch of snows In the Acroceraunian mountains,— From cloud and from crag, With many a jag,