#EnglishWriters #Romantic
Sun of the sleepless! melancholy s… Whose tearful beam glows tremulous… That show’st the darkness thou can… How like art thou to joy remember’… So gleams the past, the light of o…
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…
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…
Bob Southey! You’re a poet—Poet-… And representative of all the race… Although 'tis true that you turn’d… Last—yours has lately been a commo… And now, my Epic Renegade! what a…
‘It is the voice of years that are… they roll before me with all their… Newstead! fast-falling, once-respl… Religion’s shrine! repentant HE… Of warriors, monks, and dames the…
How sweetly shines through azure s… The lamp of heaven on Lora’s shor… Where Alva’s hoary turrets rise, And hear the din of arms no more! But often has yon rolling moon
Her eye (I’m very fond of handsom… Was large and dark, suppressing ha… Until she spoke, then through its… Flash’d an expression more of prid… And love than either; and there wo…
Whene’er I view those lips of thi… Their hue invites my fervent kiss; Yet, I forego that bliss divine, Alas! it were—-unhallow’d bliss. Whene’er I dream of that pure bre…
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…
The King was on his throne, The Satraps throng’d the hall: A thousand bright lamps shone O’er that high festival. A thousand cups of gold,
'Tu semper amoris Sisd memor, etcari comitis ne absc… Friend of my youth! when young we… Like striplings mutually beloved, With friendship’s purest glow,
If that high world, which lies bey… Our own, surviving Love endears; If there the cherish’d heart be fo… The eye the same, except in tears… How welcome those untrodden sphere…
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,
The Serfs are glad through Lara’s wide domain, [2] With tongues all loudness, and with eyes all mirth. And whence they know not, why they need not guess; Though sear’d by toil, and some...
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…