#EnglishWriters
Chief of organic Numbers! Old Scholar of the Spheres! Thy spirit never slumbers, But rolls about our ears For ever and for ever.
I stood tip-toe upon a little hill… The air was cooling, and so very s… That the sweet buds which with a m… Pull droopingly, in slanting curve… Their scantly leaved, and finely t…
The church bells toll a melancholy… Calling the people to some other p… Some other gloominess, more dreadf… More hearkening to the sermon’s ho… Surely the mind of man is closely…
BOOK I A thing of beauty is a joy for eve… Its loveliness increases; it will… Pass into nothingness; but still w… A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
O SOVEREIGN power of love! O… All records, saving thine, come co… And shadowy, through the mist of p… For others, good or bad, hatred an… Have become indolent; but touching…
Old Meg she was a Gipsy, And liv’d upon the Moors: Her bed it was the brown heath tur… And her house was out of doors. Her apples were swart blackberries…
Souls of Poets dead and gone, What Elysium have ye known, Happy field or mossy cavern, Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern? Have ye tippled drink more fine
He is to weet a melancholy carle: Thin in the waist, with bushy head… As hath the seeded thistle when in… It holds the Zephyr, ere it sende… Its light balloons into the summer…
It keeps eternal whisperings aroun… Desolate shores, and with its migh… Gluts twice ten thousand caverns,… Of Hecate leaves them their old s… Often 'tis in such gentle temper f…
HOW many bards gild the lapses of… A few of them have ever been the f… Of my delighted fancy,—I could br… Over their beauties, earthly, or s… And often, when I sit me down to…
Fire, Air, Earth, and Water, Salamander, Zephyr, Dusketha, and… Salamander. Happy, happy glowing fire! Zephyr.
The day is gone, and all its sweet… Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand… Warm breath, light whisper, tender… Bright eyes, accomplish’d shape, a… Faded the flower and all its budde…
No! those days are gone away And their hours are old and gray, And their minutes buried all Under the down-trodden pall Of the leaves of many years:
Haydon! forgive me that I cannot… Definitively of these mighty thing… Forgive me, that I have not eagle… That what I want I know not where… And think that I would not be ove…
Just at the self-same beat of Tim… Hyperion slid into the rustled air… And Saturn gain’d with Thea that… Where Cybele and the bruised Tita… It was a den where no insulting li…