#EnglishWriters
Thou should’st have longer liv’d,… Have peacefully gone down in full… Thy children would have tended thy… We might have sat, as we have ofte… By our fireside, and talk’d whole…
On a bank with roses shaded, Whose sweet scent the violets aide… Violets whose breath alone Yields but feeble smell or none, (Sweeter bed Jove ne’er repos’d o…
I saw where in the shroud did lurk A curious frame of Nature’s work. A flow’ret crushed in the bud, A nameless piece of Babyhood, Was in a cradle—coffin lying;
Margaret, in happy hour Christen’d from that humble flower Which we a daisy call! May thy pretty name—sake be In all things a type of thee,
Arrayed—a half angelic sight— In nests of pure baptismal white, The mother to the font doth bring The little, helpless, nameless thi… With hushes soft, and mild caressi…
O why your good deeds with such pr… And why that self—satisfied smile At the shilling you gave to the po… That lifted you over the stile? 'Tis not much; all the bread that…
Whether beneath sweet beds of rose… As foolish little Ann supposes, The spirit of a babe reposes Before it to the body come; Or, as philosophy more wise
Said Ann to Matilda, 'I wish tha… If what we’ve been reading of fair… Do you think that the poet himself… The fairies he here does so pretti… O what a sweet sight if he really…
‘Tis pleasant, lolling in our elbo… Secure at home, to read descriptio… Of venturous traveller in savage c… His hair—breadth ’scapes, toil, hu… The merrier passages that, like a…
Roi’s wife of Brunswick Oëls! Roi’s wife of Brunswick Oëls! Wot you how she came to him, While he supinely dreamt of no ill… Vow! but she is a canty Queen,
Was it so hard a thing? I did but… A fleeting holiday, a little week. What if the jaded steer who all da… Had borne the heat and burthen of… When evening came, and her sweet c…
Abject, stooping, old, and wan, See yon wretched beggar—man; Once a father’s hopeful heir, Once a mother’s tender care. When too young to understand
A little child, who had desired To go and see the Park guns fired… Was taken by his maid that way Upon the next rejoicing day. Soon as the unexpected stroke
Margaret, in happy hour, Christen’d from that humble flower Which we a daisy call! May thy pretty name—sake be In all things a type of thee,
A bird appears a thoughtless thing… He’s ever living on the wing, And keeps up such a carolling, That little else to do but sing A man would guess had he.