#EnglishWriters #Romantic
The Serfs are glad through Lara’s… And slavery half forgets her feuda… He, their unhoped, but unforgotten… The long self-exiled chieftain is… There be bright faces in the busy…
Star of the brave!—whose beam hath… Such glory o’er the quick and dead… Thou radiant and adored deceit! Which millions rush’d in arms to g… Wild meteor of immortal birth;
Who killed John Keats? “I,” says the Quarterly, So savage and Tartarly; “Twas one of my feats.” Who shot the arrow?
The world is a bundle of hay, Mankind are the asses who pull; Each tugs it a different way, And the greatest of all is John B…
When I hear that you express an a… Ne’er think, my beloved, that I d… For your lip would the soul of sus… And your eye beams a ray which can… Yet, still, this fond bosom regret…
If, for silver or for gold, You could melt ten thousand pimple… Into half a dozen dimples, Then your face we might behold, Looking, doubtless, much more snug…
This day, of all our days, has don… The worst for me and you:- 'Tis just six years since we were… And five since we were two.
My sister! my sweet sister! if a n… Dearer and purer were, it should b… Mountains and seas divide us, but… No tears, but tenderness to answer… Go where I will, to me thou art t…
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…
Adieu, adieu! my native shore Fades o’ver the waters blue; The night-winds sigh, the breakers… And shrieks the wild sea-mew. Yon sun that sets upon the sea
Father of Light! great God of He… Hear’st thou the accents of despai… Can guilt like man’s be e’er forgi… Can vice atone for crimes by praye… Father of Light, on thee I call!
Saint Peter sat by the celestial… His keys were rusty, and the lock… So little trouble had been given o… Not that the place by any means wa… But since the Gallic era 'eight-e…
'OH! banish care’—such ever be The motto of thy revelry! Perchance of mine, when wassail ni… Renew those riotous delights, Wherewith the children of Despair
Absent or present, still to thee, My friend, what magic spells belon… As all can tell, who share, like m… In turn thy converse and thy song. But when the dreaded hour shall co…
Here once engaged the stranger’s v… Young Friendship’s record simply… Few were her words; but yet, thoug… Resentment’s hand the line defaced… Deeply she cut—but not erased,