#EnglishWriters #Romantic
There is a pleasure in the pathles… There is a rapture on the lonely s… There is society, where none intru… By the deep sea, and music in its… I love not man the less, but Natu…
Once fairly set out on his party o… Taking towns at his liking, and cr… From Elba to Lyons and Paris he… Making balls for the ladies, and b…
Kind Reader! take your choice to… Here HAROLD lies, but where’s h… If such you seek, try Westminster… Ten thousand just as fit for him a… Athens
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…
Bright be the place of thy soul! No lovelier spirit than thine E’er burst from its mortal control In the orbs of the blessed to shin… On earth thou wert all but divine,
In this beloved marble view, Above the works and thoughts of ma… What Nature could, but would not,… And Beauty and Canova can! Beyond imagination’s power,
Francisca walks in the shadow of n… But it is not to gaze on the heave… But if she sits in her garden bowe… 'Tis not for the sake of its blowi… She listens– but not for the night…
If sometimes in the haunts of men Thine image from my breast may fad… The lonely hour presents again The semblance of thy gentle shade: And now that sad and silent hour
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…
I had a dream, which was not all a… The bright sun was extinguish’d, a… Did wander darkling in the eternal… Rayless, and pathless, and the icy… Swung blind and blackening in the…
'I lay my branch of laurel down. Then thus to form Apollo’s crown. Let every other bring his own.'~L… ‘I lay my branch of laurel down.’ Thou ‘lay thy branch of laurel dow…
‘And Ireland, like a bastinadoed… kneeling to receive the paltry rid… Ere the daughter of Brunswick is… And her ashes still float to their… Lo! George the triumphant speeds…
Strahan, Tonson Lintot of the tim… Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climb… My Murray. To thee, with hope and terror dumb…
There’s not a joy the world can gi… When the glow of early thought dec… 'Tis not on youth’s smooth cheek t… But the tender bloom of heart is g… Then the few whose spirits float a…
Woman! experience might have told… That all must love thee who behold… Surely experience might have taugh… Thy firmest promises are nought: But, placed in all thy charms befo…