#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Oh! did those eyes, instead of fir… With bright, but mild affection sh… Though they might kindle less desi… Love, more than mortal, would be t… For thou art form’d so heavenly fa…
The chain I gave was fair to view… The lute I added sweet in sound; The heart that offer’d both was tr… And ill deserved the fate it found… These gifts were charm’d by secret…
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
Dear Doctor, I have read your pla… Which is a good one in its way, Purges the eyes and moves the bowe… And drenches handkerchiefs like to… With tears, that, in a flux of gri…
For Oxford and for Waldegrave You give much more than me you gav… Which is not fairly to behave, My Murray. Because if a live dog, 'tis said,
In digging up your bones, Tom Pai… Will. Cobbett has done well: You visit him on earth again, He’ll visit you in hell.
Long years!—It tries the thrillin… And eagle-spirit of a child of So… Long years of outrage, calumny, an… Imputed madness, prison’d solitude… And the mind’s canker in its savag…
There is a tear for all that die, A mourner o’er the humblest grave; But nations swell the funeral cry, And Triumph weeps above the brave… For them is Sorrow’s purest sigh
When the vain triumph of the imper… Whom servile Rome obey’d, and yet… Gave to the vulgar gaze each glori… That left a likeness of the brave… What most admired each scrutinisin…
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
Hush’d are the winds, and still th… Not e’en a zephyr wanders through… Whilst I return, to view my Marga… And scatter flowers on the dust I… Within this narrow cell reclines h…
Nothing so difficult as a beginnin… In poesy, unless perhaps the end; For oftentimes when Pegasus seems… The race, he sprains a wing, and d… Like Lucifer when hurl’d from hea…
When Newton saw an apple fall, he… In that slight startle from his co… 'Tis said (for I 'll not answer a… For any sage’s creed or calculatio… A mode of proving that the earth t…
We do not curse thee, Waterloo! Though Freedom’s blood thy plain… There 'twas shed, but is not sunk Rising from each gory trunk, Like the water-spout from ocean,
If, in the month of dark December… Leander, who was nightly wont (What maid will not the tale remem… To cross thy stream, broad Helles… If, when the wintry tempest roar’d…