#EnglishWriters
Ye unseen spirits, whose wild melo… At evening rising slow, yet sweetl… Steal on the musing poet’s pensive… As by the wood-spring stretch’d su… When he, who now invokes you, low…
Sublime, emerging from the misty v… Of the horizon dim, thee, Moon, I… As, sweeping o’er the leafless gro… Seems to repeat the year’s funerea… Now Autumn sickens on the languid…
Quick o’er the wintry waste dart f… Bleak blows the blast-now howls—th… And oft upon its awful wings it wa… The dying wanderer’s distant, feeb… Now, when athwart the gloom gaunt…
Dear Fanny, I mean, now I’m laid… To give you a sketch-ay, a sketch… ’Tis a pitiful subject, I frankly… And one it would puzzle a painter… But, however, here goes, and as su…
You bid me, Ned, describe the pla… Where I, one of the rhyming race, Pursue my studies con amore, And wanton with the muse in glory. Well, figure to your senses straig…
Softly, softly blow, ye breezes, Gently o’er my Edwy fly! Lo! he slumbers, slumbers sweetly; Softly, zephyrs, pass him by! My love is asleep,
Lo! in the west, fast fades the li… And day’s last vestige takes its s… No more is heard the woodman’s mea… Which with the dawn from yonder di… No more, hoarse clamouring o’er th…
Loud rage the winds without.-The… O’er the cold northstar casts her… And Silence, pausing in some snow… Starts as she hears, by fits, the… Where now, shut out from every sti…
Hark! how the merry bells ring joc… And now they die upon the veering… Anon they thunder loud Full on the musing ear. Wafted in varying cadence, by the…
Beams of the daybreak faint! I ha… Your dubious hues, as on the robe Of night, which wraps the slumberi… I mark your traces pale. Tired with the taper’s sickly ligh…
Yet once more, and once more, awak… From silence and neglect-one lofty… Lofty, yet wilder than the winds o… And speaking mysteries more than w… I ask of thee; for I, with hymnin…
Thy judgments, Lord, are just; th… The face of pity and of love divin… But mine is guilt-thou must not, c… While heaven is true, and equity i… Yes, oh my God!-such crimes as mi…
Misfortune, I am young, my chin i… And I have wondered much when men… How youth was free from sorrow and… That thou shouldst dwell with me a… Sure dost not like me!-Shrivelled…
Mild orb, who floatest through the… A pathless wanderer o’er a lonely… Welcome to me thy soft and pensive… Which oft in childhood my lone tho… Now doubly dear as o’er my silent…
When the winter wind whistles alon… And the cottager shuts on the begg… When the chilling tear stands in m… Oh, how hard is the lot of the Wa… The winter is cold, and I have no…